


lighthouse

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. niall's been waiting for zayn his whole life. when he finally comes it might be too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHH HERE WE ARE. HERE WE FINALLY ARE, MY FRIENDS. MY BIG BANG. THE BIG ONE. THE BIG MOMENT.
> 
> this 50k monster has been in my google drive for a very long time and i'm so happy to be sharing it with you all! this piece of work is very important to me and i hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> along with this work is a beautiful fanmix my lovely artist maggie, can be found [here](http://buffalotips.tumblr.com/post/113426485105/lighthouse/). please listen and enjoy as i have been doing since she sent it to me the other night. truly wonderful.
> 
> also the beautiful and gorgeous header was made by [natasha](http://wearecities.tumblr.com/), the love and light of my life. thank you again!
> 
> last, but not least, to the people who have put up with me whining. leighanne, my "person" and best friend on this entire, massive planet. tor talking out my entire plot before this was just an idea in my head out, beta-ing and removing all my unnecessary comma's, always being patient and putting up with my three am texts yelling in all caps, and just being here through this entire process. i love you very much. also layla, emma, ani, kelsey, amber, and blake for discussing scenes and helping me come up with stuff -- you are the real MVP's, honestly. tor holding my hands and putting up with me. your trophies are being sent out in the mail next week, promise. also katelyn, janelle, mady, nika, alex, jasmine, mahima, and shannon for encouraging me and kicking my bum to write.
> 
> if you read this, thank you. i love you.

“ _Good morning good people of Eagle Harbour, Vancouver. Just a warning before you finally crawl out of bed: it’s going to be one of those ‘cold as balls I hate my entire life’ mornings, so brace yourselves. If you’re anything like me and are always cold you will no doubt be wearing two to three sweaters, four pairs of socks, and an array of scarves around your neck to keep yourself warm. It’s five forty-five in the morning and I’m your host, Nick Grimshaw, here to greet you in the morning light and make your mornings something to be enjoyed._ ”

Niall groans, reaching over to turn off his alarm where its playing loud and insistently from his night table. It takes a moment to find the right button before he finally manages to press it, the sound of a song he doesn’t know that’s playing ending abruptly.

Someone beside him stirs, and Niall pauses, careful not to wake them as he pulls himself out from underneath the sheets. He leans down, pressing his lips to their bare shoulder, letting them linger for a few moments before he’s finally up, picking some clothes as he makes his way toward the door. 

"Always up so fucking early," a muffled voice comes from the bed just before Niall leaves the bedroom.

"Some of us have work, you know," Niall teases gently, tapping his knuckles against the frame and hears him snort. "Not all us can afford to sleep away the mornings, Breslin."

He hears an affectionately muttered, "asshole," before Niall walks back down the hallway, smiling only slightly satisfied with himself as he goes.

He shivers, no other movement in the house as he opens the bathroom door and steps inside. And, turning on the light, can see his reflection in the mirror — noticeable bags under his eyes. Niall winces at himself and rubs at his eyes uselessly; as if this is somehow going to make them magically disappear. They don’t, and he gives up to instead turn on the water, making sure it's warm enough before he turns on the shower.

There’s only one memory Niall has in the mornings, one that replays through his head like a broken goddamn record. Almost like his mind's way of silently torturing him.

He steps inside the shower, the few moments Niall has to himself before he goes off to work. He usually thinks of it when there’s steam fogging up the room, humming whatever song’s been stuck in his head the past couple of days as he lathers soap along his skin, flushed from the warmth and bites the inside of his cheek.

They’d been sitting on the back porch, just before he’d left. Niall remembers feeling nervous, sweating and watching as he smiled, all loose and lopsided despite the early hour they’d stayed up till.

“It’s the one thing that’s been pulling me back here,” he said, tongue pressed to his teeth, like he always does when he smiles too big, something Niall’s come to realize over the years.

“What?” Niall asked, confused, with his hands on his thighs.

“The mornings,” he clarified, lips pressed against Niall’s neck while he talked. “You know,” he continued, slowly, “it’s the mornings here that are my favourite, more than anywhere else in the world.”

And Niall isn't the type to read into things, he isn't, but it's just. He hadn't been looking at the sunrise when he'd said it; instead just looking at Niall.

Between the two of them they’d shared a bottle of wine, starting well in on a second one when the sun had started to rise, painting along the Vancouver horizon. And he’d been right, Niall thought to himself, but he hadn’t said it. Maybe he should’ve said it, he thinks to himself as he gets out of the shower, drying himself off and changing into his clothes for the day. Maybe if Niall had said it, he would’ve stayed this time.

It’s still cold out, the snow not yet all melted from their brutally long winter as he makes his way down into the kitchen. He turns on the coffee maker first, brewing himself some as he waits, leaning against the counter and checking his phone.

 _my car is stilllllll in the shop_ Louis texted him ten minutes ago, followed up with a, _come save me, ni_

 _Is this a Subtle hint ? Use ur words Tommo_ Niall sends back, taking out a mug and pours some of the now steaming liquid into it once it's finished brewing.

_i was thinking we could drop in on liam. see if his waffles are good as he brags about._

Niall reads his screen, considering. He looks out the window, elbows braced against the countertop and takes a sip of his always too-bitter coffee. Liam’s constantly in the habit of telling him it's because he makes it too strong, lets the beans sit for too long but Niall doesn’t change it, probably thinking it’ll get better every time he makes a batch. It doesn’t, and he’s always left wincing at his mug and wondering if he should just say fuck it, and buy a new coffee maker.

There’s frost sprinkled along the grass of his front lawn, the sun not yet fully up, adding a bit more sugar to his coffee. He’s got a tour to give this morning, along with a hike after lunch — then he needs to go and check on their boats, see which ones made it through the winter and which ones they need to get rid of.

But he gives himself a few more minutes, hands warming up where they’re holding his mug and enjoying the view from his front window. Taking his coat from the front closet, looking back up the hallway. There's still no movement from the bedroom, so he takes his things and makes his way out the door. 

He needs to salt the driveway, nearly falling flat onto his face before he can even unlock the driver’s side door. Niall curses under his breath, each puff coming out in the cold air as he slides into the drivers seat, rubbing his hands together before starting the car.

That’s the problem with winters here, they never seem to know when to fuck off. Nick hadn’t been lying; there's ice across his windshield as Niall waits for the defroster to kick in. He texts Louis he’ll be there in ten minutes, and once the windshield is cleared backs out onto the road. 

There’s other cars joining him as he pulls out into the intersection by his house, tapping the steering wheel to the song playing on the radio as he goes.

“ _Coming up in a little while we have Harry, who apparently has a ‘very exciting setlist’ planned for you all today. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up,_ ” Nick’s voice when the song’s finished, followed by a very familiar, “ _Heyyyyy,_ ” heard in protest in the background. 

Niall smiles, can’t help himself, pulling onto Louis’ street. The roads are more slippery than usual; needing to keep his foot a little more firm on the brakes than he’d like as he parks in the driveway. 

It’s a few minutes before Louis finally comes out, bundled up just the same as Niall, walking down to the passengers seat. 

“Why the fuck —” Louis starts, cutting himself off by putting his hands up in front of the vents where the hot air is blowing out of, “is it still so fucking cold outside.”

“Do I look like the weatherman?” Niall asks. Louis rolls his eyes and they start off down the road.

“I told Liam to save us some waffles,” Louis says, unlocking his phone and grinning. “He didn’t sound too pleased when I asked.”

Niall shrugs, stopping at a red light. Makes sure his coffee doesn’t fall where it’s in the cup holder, most likely cold now and adjusts his hat.

There’s only a handful of cars in the parking lot when Niall pulls in, Louis still loudly complaining about the weather as they walk through the front doors.

Louis goes to the front desk, chatting with the person behind it as Niall goes to hang up his coat beside the staff mailboxes. He has a few letters stuffed in there, mostly with bills and other uninteresting things; tucking them under his arm and making the way to his office. He unlocks the door and puts the letters on a stack of other unopened envelopes, reminding himself to look over them when he’s back in here doing paperwork this afternoon.

He puts his coat on the back of his chair, phone in his pocket and pushes open one of the swinging doors to the kitchens. 

“What, don’t you guys have food at your _own_ houses?” Liam’s voice coming from the ovens. Niall walks over toward him.

Louis responds, “yes, but it’s not like your cooking, dearest Liam.”

Liam’s standing over something, stirring it. Niall watches him give Louis a stern look. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Tomlinson,” he says.

Louis just grins, clearly not deterred and picks up a plate. “Do you have those strawberries I like?” he asks. Liam groans. “And lots of whipped cream, please, you know how much I like that.”

“I’m guessing you’re here for the same?” Liam asks, glancing over his shoulder toward Niall where he’s standing a few feet behind them.

Niall bites his lower lip, so as to not smile too much as he shrugs. “I can just go get something from that coffee shop down the street —” he starts but Liam shakes his head, cutting him off.

In a few minutes, they’re both handed their respected plates with waffles on them. Louis, with his high maintenance of strawberries and extra whipped cream, strawberries on top of the whip with chocolate drizzle over them, and Niall’s usual syrup and blueberries.

“What’s the point if it doesn’t have whipped cream on it,” Louis asks, poking at one of Niall’s blueberries. 

“Hands off,” Niall says, flicking his curious fingers away. “I don’t go around insulting your topping choices, do I?”

Liam snorts, and Louis wriggles his eyebrows. Niall decides not to respond to them, sipping his coffee instead.

“In my defence, you’re the one who said it,” Louis says, pointing his fork accusingly at Niall.

“I didn’t mean it in _that_ way,” Niall responds, making a face.

“Don’t you two have like, work to do?” Liam asks, putting a few things onto a tray and sending it out with someone to the dining room. “Or am I the only one pulling my weight around here?”

“Hey,” Louis snaps, sounding only mildly offended. “I’ll have you now I was here until one in the morning last night, fixing that booking fiasco Greg got us into.”

“Shit, that’s right,” Niall says, wiping a bit of syrup from his mouth. “Did you get that all sorted out?”

Louis takes a drink of his tea, shrugging. “Mostly. Just had to switch a bunch of rooms around. I’ll show them to you later,” he says.

Niall nods, sighing, before he puts down his empty plate. “I’ve got a tour and a hike today but after that I’ll be in my office so I’ll look at it then,” he says. “But I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Of course it’s fine,” Louis says, assured. “I did it, so.” 

Liam snorts a second time, with Louis then making a feeble attempt to kick at his ankle. Niall laughs, putting his dishes into the bin, cleaning off his hands and leaning over to wrap an arm around Liam’s waist.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Niall says, and swears he can see Liam’s lips pull up into a small smile.

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here,” Liam says, eyes crinkling when Niall leans up to smack a kiss to his cheek.

He picks up his name tag from Greg at the front desk, saying his good mornings and checking out the usual things before going out to the boathouse. He’s got about twenty minutes until his first tour, more than enough time, unlocking the wooden door.

Everything’s tied up how he left it, all in its proper place as he goes through the boats — scanning them silently. He runs his thumb over the edge of one, checking a dent in the side of it. 

The ice is nearly melted on the water, just a few bits floating around in it as Niall pauses on the docks, hands in the pocket of his jacket as he takes in a deep breath. He hasn’t smoked in almost four months but feels like he could have one now, head still pounding and not particularly looking forward to all he has to do today.

But, moments later, Louis calls his name — telling him his tour is ready. Niall nods, making his way back up to meet them, ignoring the dread in his gut as he does.

— 

The morning goes by relatively fast, ignoring a few minor hiccups. The ground is still in that weird in-between stage of melting snow and still frozen ground, making it difficult for people to hike in. Some take a few tumbles along the trail that Niall had to deal with. But it’s not like that’s anything he isn’t used to; he's dealt with many a scrape and cut over the years.

Something did throw him off, though, when he was back in the boat shed looking things over. He’d been talking with Paul, taking inventory and helping move things when his knee had shot up in pain. He’d hissed at the sharpness of it.

“You okay?” Liam asks as Niall all but hobbles into the kitchen, giving him a concerned look.

“Fine,” Niall grunts, moving to sit on a stool. “Just need some ice, I think.”

Liam frowns, not fully convinced as he goes about getting some ice for him. It’s the brunch crowd now, with the usual menu that entails, as Niall puts the ice on his knee.

“What happened?” Liam asks.

“Nothing. I was just moving some boats around in the shed and it just started hurting, I guess. It’s not serious,” Niall says, holding back his wince, pressing the ice against his knee. It’s throbbing, which isn’t a good thing. But he doesn’t say this, instead leaning back in his stool as he looks around. “How’s everything here?”

“Fine,” Liam says. “Keep that ice there for ten minutes,” he instructs, going back to whatever he’d been chopping before Niall had come barging in.

“ _So that was Hey Ocean! With their song entitled A Song About California, which. Kudos on creativity,_ ” Harry’s voice is coming through the speakers. Niall rolls his eyes, tipping his head back so he can focus on something other than the pain.

“Harry again? Really, Liam?” Niall asks.

He can see Liam’s blush from across the room before he flips Niall off, turning back to the stove. Niall grins, proud of himself.

“Why hello there, slacker,” Louis says as he pushes through the door; looking only slightly frazzled, which is the sign of a good morning. 

“Ease up,” Liam says, “he hurt his knee again.”

“I didn’t _hurt it_ —” Niall protests. Louis turns around to look at him again.

“What did you do, Horan,” Louis asks flatly.

“Nothing,” Niall insists. “It’s fine. I just need a few more minutes with the ice and it’ll be right as rain.”

Louis gives him a look similar to Liam's, frowning and unconvinced, before turning back to the stove. “I request you change the station. I can’t handle any more of Harry’s rambling while I’m trying to sort through resumes. Thank you,” he says, pointedly glaring at Liam.

Liam’s brows furrow. Niall can’t see Louis’ face but he’s sure Louis is making one one, judging by Liam's knowing look a moment later.

“You might be right. Get a change of pace here this afternoon,” Liam says in agreement. Niall blinks.

“Are you feeling alright —” Niall asks, Liam moving to change it before Harry’s talking again.

“ _This next song is one I picked myself,_ ” Harry continues.

“Well, of course you did you’re a radio dj, of all things —” Louis mumbles under his breath.

“ _It’s for a friend of mine who’s recently returned home after being away for almost ten months,_ ” Harry’s saying, and Niall’s sure his chest just got tighter where he’s sitting. “ _And this song is like a ‘welcome home, Zayn’ kind of greeting. If he’s awake. Can never be too sure with him._ ”

Louis puts his hands over his face, muttering a “shit,” as Liam presses his lips together in a thin line. None of them say anything as the familiar lyrics of _guess who’s back, back, back, back again_ fill the kitchen.

If it weren’t for his knee he would’ve left by now, pushing through those doors and going straight to his office. But, as it stands it’s still fucking throbbing, and so Niall is instead stuck on his fucking stool as he shifts uncomfortably. 

“So you knew he was coming back?” Niall breaks the silence.

Both Liam and Louis exchange looks before either of them says anything, but Niall can tell just by looking at them. Mostly by their guilty expressions, but still.

“To be fair, Harry had only just texted me that he knew,” Louis says finally.

“And we were going to tell you,” Liam’s quick to add, “just. Not over the radio, like that.”

Niall’s got his free hand clenched at his side, the other still holding the ice. He bites his lips so hard he’s sure he’s going to taste blood soon. 

They’re looking at him now, as if trying to gauge what Niall’s going to do next. He pushes himself up, carefully, keeping the ice pressed to his knee. He nearly lets out a sound at the pain shooting up his leg when he does.

“Niall —” Louis starts, quietly cautious.

“It’s fine,” Niall says, answering his unasked question. “I just need to go back to the docks, anyway. Forgot to do some things.”

He doesn’t wait for them ask, doesn’t wait for them to say anything else on the subject before Niall pushes back through the doors. There’s a line of people talking to Greg at the front desk and he walks past them, back through the doors and outside. The cool air hits his face as soon as he gets out.

He leaves the ice by the door, underneath the small bench there before starting off down the path. The sun is hidden behind the clouds once again, tucking his chin into the collar of his jacket, warding off as much of the chilly air that he can.

His name keeps repeating in Niall’s head, like a mantra — ever since Harry said it, ringing clear through the radio speakers. _Zayn Zayn Zayn Zayn_ , like he hasn’t thought about him enough, like Niall hasn’t constantly subjected himself to remembering everything he can about Zayn since he’d left.

Niall remembers the morning he left. Remembers waking up to an empty bed, like he’d known he would. But no matter how many times he predicts it, tells himself that’s how it’s going to be when he wakes up, he’s still never really fully prepared when it finally does happen. And that’s how it had been, with Zayn’s frame still imprinted on his side of the bed, just how Niall remembered him so clearly. 

He’d taken his clothes, the sketchpads sometimes left in Niall’s house on random things — countertops, the table in the living room, on top of the television. Places Niall would never even think to look for them.

There’d been a note; taped to the kettle with his usual, messy writing.

_heading out again. don’t know when i’ll be back. miss you already, z._

Niall still has it, because he hates himself apparently, tucked away into his drawer and only looking at it on the nights when he can’t shut his brain off. 

He should throw it out.

The docks are quiet, no one else around. Niall looks down, kicking at the old wood and blinks rapidly, ignoring the wetness in his eyes best he can. 

So Zayn’s here. He’s home. After ten months of being God knows where, he’s finally back. And Niall should be relieved, like he always is when getting the news; that same, insistent flutter in his chest. 

But it’s different now, Niall thinks, picking up a rock and tossing it into the water. Watches it sink for a moment, another breeze blowing past, pulling his jacket tighter around his body. 

“Where are you going to go this time?” Niall asked, the last night he’d seen him. 

They’d been in his bed, and he can remember how warm Zayn’s skin had been, even now. It’s always warm, always so soft that Niall can’t help but always find himself tracing along it with his finger, mapping it out and trying to memorize it best he can in his bedroom. 

Zayn hummed, turning his head so he was looking at Niall in the dimly lit room. He looked soft, watching Niall for a few moments before speaking again.

“Was thinking maybe somewhere warm, this time around. Sick of winter,” Zayn said. Niall laughed, couldn’t help himself.

“Might come with you,” Niall said, knowing even then it was a stupid thing to say. Stupid Niall, stupid boy, stupid feelings, so very _stupid_ of him. “Getting a bit sick of winter myself.”

He didn’t look at Zayn, couldn’t bring himself to, and instead went along the sleeve of Zayn’s arm, going over the tattoos that seemed so familiar to him now. Niall wonders, briefly, if he’s gotten more — even though he said he wasn’t going to, he’s always been a liar when it comes to his tattoos. Addicted, Niall would call him, to which every time Zayn would argue that he’s hardly addicted. But they both knew the truth.

“You can, you know.” Zayn said, voice quiet through all the loudness inside Niall’s head. “Come with me,” Zayn added, answering the question Niall didn’t want to ask.

And for a small moment, Niall thought maybe, he should. Just pack up, get everything together and go, not think about it and get on that plane with Zayn. See where they go, what adventures they go on, see whatever it is Zayn does when he leaves time after time.

But the larger part of him told him that he couldn’t go, not when there’s everything he wants right here, in this small town. 

So Niall had leaned down, tilting Zayn’s chin up and kissing him. It wasn’t an answer, not by any means, but it was something for him to do to try and not forget Zayn, let him slip through his fingers.

He’s pissed. He’s pissed and he’s upset, his insides sitting heavy and muddled. Niall throws another rock in, harder this time. Water splashes up against the dock.

Niall could text him. Tell him to fuck off, or something equally dramatic to get his point across. But he doesn’t, doesn’t even take out his phone as he starts back up the hill, knee feeling a bit better.

He needs to go to his office anyway, do work and not stand outside and potentially get himself sick. He steps back inside, kicking off his shoes before he starts back toward the kitchens to return his now half melted bag of ice.

“— Texted me saying I was a huge dick —”

“Probably because you forgot how much he _hates_ Eminem —”

“I thought it was a nice gesture,” Harry’s saying, grinning, both hands braced against the counter. 

“You’re an idiot,” Louis says, before giving Liam a pointed look and adding, “don’t defend him either, Payno.”

Liam holds up his hands before he looks over, spotting Niall. Harry’s seen him too, judging by the way he’s gone quiet, croissant held up to his mouth before he finally says, “hey, Ni.”

Louis turns now, back no longer facing him as Niall takes in a deep breath. “Hey, Harry,” he says.

It’s tense, enough for Niall to notice, putting the ice down onto the counter. “I have to go do some work, so —”

“There’s um, someone in the dining room for you?” Louis says after a moment, forcing a small smile.

Niall pauses, brows furrowed and looks between the three of them. “Who is it?”

“They want it to be a surprise,” Liam says, and Niall’s gut twists noticeably when he hears it.

 _Don’t be him_ , he thinks to himself, desperate. _Please, don’t be him_.

“I’ll just, go see,” Niall trails off, stepping toward the door and going out into the dining room.

He’s expecting to see him. Dark hair, probably wearing one of those jumpers that make him seem longer than he actually is, tight jeans and those ridiculous boots Niall always mocks him for —

“Niall?”

It’s Breslin, standing awkwardly by the entrance to the dining room, and Niall isn’t sure if it’s relief or not that goes through him once he spots him. 

“Hey, Bressie,” Niall says, walking over to him. “What are you — doing here?”

“You left your house key on the table,” Bressie says simply, holding it out for him. Niall accepts it, holding it in his palm. Shifts onto the balls of his feet, trying to calm the panic that’s still lingering in his chest. “Thought you might need it, since I’m working the late shift again tonight.”

Niall makes a face, looking up at him. “Why are they giving you all these late shifts? Do they know you’ve got a really fucking light sleeper for a boyfriend?”

Bressie laughs, quietly, one of his hands at Niall’s waist and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll mention it to Preston, see what he says,” he says. Niall nods, content with this answer.

“Keep me updated, I’m sure he’ll have a few things to say on the matter,” Niall says, reaching out to press a hand against Bressie’s chest, lightly. Can feel the beat of his heart, faintly — the familiar thudding as Niall takes in a deep breath, lets it comfort him.

“You alright?” Bressie asks, one of his thumbs under Niall’s chin so they’re looking at one another.

“Yeah,” Niall lies, clearing his throat. “Just a long morning,” he says, fidgeting with his key. “Got a really bad headache that won’t go away.”

“Alright, well. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he says.

And before Niall can say anything else he leans down, lips pressed against Niall’s in a chaste kiss, though long enough to send something similar to chills up his spine once Bressie pulls away.

“See you then,” Niall tells him, swiping the pad of his thumb over the corner of Bressie’s mouth before he goes, keys heavy in his palm as he leans his forehead against the doorframe.

— 

Weekends he has off, so when Niall wakes up on Saturday to Bressie already gone to a shift, he goes for a drive.

It’s not for any particular reason; mostly just to clear his head in this strange, cluttered state it’s been in the past few days. Niall knows why he’s this way — why he can’t think straight, can’t hardly focus on one thing anymore, but he doesn’t say it. Just goes about the inn, doing his usual tours and hikes, or locking himself in his office and not having the energy to deal with anything else.

Liam’s starting to get his spring menu together, always seeming to be bursting with ideas and changing his mind at the drop of a hat. The water's getting warmer, the boats need to be worked on a bit — which Niall’s taken to doing over the past week. A lot of them need a bit of fix ups here and there but he doesn’t mind, just means he’s outside more. The usual end of season's routines, ones that Niall’s grown accustomed to.

He doesn’t turn on the radio, instead putting in a cd as he turns the key, feeling the engine thrumming where his hands grip the steering wheel. Louis texted, asking if he wanted to go for dinner or something, but Niall doesn’t reply — just puts his phone into the cup holder beside him and drives.

There’s something strangely calming about driving through something as big as mountains, oddly enough 

His parents used to take them, once every few weeks, him and his brother Greg on hikes all along the trails. He remembers his mom warning him to hold onto the railings on the path, always at his side and pointing things out to him — like where there were waterfalls, or the occasional deer, things he would have otherwise missed if it weren’t for her.

They’d gone driving in the mountains one day, when Niall didn’t have to work and Zayn didn’t have anything better to do. It had been sunny; bright and warm where Zayn had been in the front seat, attempting to be navigator but failing horribly at it.

Niall remembers, now, they’d held hands that day for the first time. They’d only hooked up a handful of times before that, and Niall was always unsure of where they were — where they stood, because Zayn never really gave him any sort of indication he knew where they were at, either.

With his hand on the console, Zayn had reached across and taken it into his own. He’d been talking about something, Niall isn’t sure what it was now, probably some story he was only half listening to because Zayn’s hand was so warm, his bony fingers fitting between Niall’s easily. And Niall didn’t want to stop the car, didn’t want to get out and end the moment between them.

He doesn’t drive for too long, just a little while before driving back to town — pulling into the grocery store. There’s a list in his pocket, some things Breslin wrote down before he’d gone to work. 

_Whaaaat do you Think about pumpkin pancakes ??? Found a gud recipie 4 themmm_ Liam texts him, along with another from Harry asking if he’s coming out tonight.

 _Are u and louis Conspiring together ?_ Niall first sends to Harry, then to Liam a quick _Go for it , Payno. Sounds Great_ before he walks through the automatic doors.

His cart is only half full by the time he’s finished, deciding on a few last minute items and goes through the check-out.

Perrie’s ringing him through, Niall usually sees her when he comes in — always asking him how he’s doing, how’s the inn; the usual, standard questions. Apparently she’s going to beauty school, she tells him, somewhere between his paying and getting his bags back into his cart.

It looks like it might rain, Niall thinks while pushing the cart out the doors once more. He unloads the bags into his trunk, closing it and brings the cart back to the rows of them by the front of the store.

Just as he’s about to go back Niall pauses, getting the strange feeling like he’s being watched. He glances around, running a hand through his hair before he spots them, and —

Oh.

He swallows, nerves spreading through him when he sees Zayn. He’s a few feet away, exhaling a mouthful of smoke and eyeing Niall.

And that’s the thing, Niall thinks to himself, standing there. You never really get used to seeing him again after a long time, because he's so _striking_ , like no one he’s ever seen, not in this entire world. He doesn’t think he ever will see anyone like Zayn Malik.

“Hi,” Niall manages to get out, trying his best to keep his voice steady.

Zayn smiles a little, flicking the end of his cigarette. “Hey,” he says, nodding. “How are you?”

It sounds so easy, the way Zayn always asks him that. Like no time’s passed between them, like he didn’t just fuck off to God knows where for ten months. Like it’s only been a week since they last talked.

“Good, yeah. Just getting some groceries,” Niall says, shrugging, kicking at a rock near his foot. 

“I figured,” Zayn says. He’s teasing, Niall can tell by the way he bites the corner of his lip after he’s said it.

“What are you doing here?” Niall asks, because it seems the obvious one to ask.

Zayn tosses the end of his now finished cigarette onto the ground, pressing the heel of his boot into it. Niall waits for him to say something. “My mom sent me,” he says, smile widening while he talks, “said I should get out of the house and make myself useful.”

Niall laughs, short and forced; stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Just her way of looking out for you, I guess.”

It feels like a different time now. From all those nights they spent together, Zayn’s car parked in Niall’s driveway for what would feel like days at time. When he’d wake up to one of Zayn’s arms lazily thrown around his waist, smelling like smoke and cologne stubbornly staying on his skin. 

“Are you free tonight?” Zayn asks, ending the silence between them. “I have to get some stuff, but I can stop by later?”

It’s not just a stop in, or a check-in, or whatever it is the two of them want to believe it could be. And they both know that.

“I’m dating someone,” Niall blurts out, blinking.

Zayn looks at him, eyebrows raised in clear surprise as they stand there. He could’ve done it with a bit more tact, Niall thinks to himself, instead of just sort of — putting it out there. But Zayn knows now, so there’s no going back.

“Who?” Zayn asks.

He doesn’t say the usual things, like the strange, customary congratulations or — oh, that’s nice, are you happy? 

“He’s um, I met him through the inn? Kind of,” Niall starts, wincing at himself. 

“Still doesn’t answer my question,” Zayn points out, voice annoying calm and even where he’s got his back pressed against the wall. 

“His name is Breslin,” Niall says. “He’s a police officer.”

Zayn’s got his lips pressed together in a thin line Niall knows well enough to be something close to a grimace, after growing up in the same, small town with him for all these years. Knows that he’s thinking, mulling over what to say while taking out his box of cigarettes again. A second one, which is a curious response. 

“How long have you two been —” Zayn pauses. He’s got the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, lighter in hand again as he holds it to the end of it. “Together?”

Niall feels like he’s being interrogated, outside of the grocery store in his own town, of all things. “Seven months,” he answers.

But it’s not just seven months, Niall knows that, he does, but. He doesn’t say this. Just waits for Zayn to respond, fingers pressed against his car keys absently where they’re in his pocket.

“Sounds serious,” Zayn comments. He’s trying to make it seem like he doesn’t care by the way he speaks, but it’s the way he’s looking at Niall that tells a different story.

“Something like that, I guess,” Niall says, shrugging. “Should go though. Get those groceries put away.”

Zayn nods, swallowing, and when Niall sees the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat he knows he needs to excuse himself and get himself back into his car.

“Yeah, of course,” Zayn says, jaw set as he talks.

“I’ll — see you around?” Niall says, taking a few steps back toward the parking lot.

“Sure,” Zayn says, eyes trailing along Niall’s face. “It was good seeing you, Ni.”

“You too,” Niall tells him, and means it.

He makes it back, unlocking the driver’s side and getting in. And Niall’s got every intention to start his car and drive off, but instead finds himself pressing his forehead against the steering wheel and closing his eyes — taking in deep breaths and ignoring the weird, stinging in his chest.

 

_Should be home around eight thirty. Need me to pick up anything?_

Niall’s phone buzzes beside him on the couch where he’s watching golf reruns on the Sports Network, seeing Bressie’s name. He unlocks it.

_Got a lasagna in the oven ! Mayb some beer if You want !_

He leaves out the minor detail that he’d bought the lasagna already made from the store, tossing his phone back onto the cushion beside him. There’s some emails that need answering and other things to do, but Niall can’t be fucked to do any of them, coming home and collapsing onto the couch after putting the groceries away.

His head feels stuck, replaying things over and over, like. Like his conversation with Zayn, and how when Niall said he was dating someone his lips had turned down. Hardly noticeable, but Niall had seen it. Seems to find himself attune to things when it comes to Zayn — because he’s so good at keeping himself together, at hiding things that other people can see and decipher from him. But Niall knows, and he wonders if Zayn had forgotten that while he’d been gone.

He shouldn’t be thinking about Zayn this much. He’s got a _boyfriend_ and a _steady relationship_ , for crying out loud. 

The sun’s setting, the days getting longer — sun lingering in the sky till later hours, which is a telltale sign that winter is almost over. One that Niall welcomes, at any rate, he thinks and glances out the window.

Louis texted, or has _been_ texting incessantly most of the evening, asking if Niall wanted to go out with him and Liam. He’d said no, that he had things to do and he’d see them at work tomorrow, to which Louis had replied with a very eloquent _fuck you horan :)_ and has since proceeded to text Niall pictures of each and every drink he’s had in the span of a few hours.

He’s debating going up and getting something to drink when he hears the door, followed by the familiar greeting of, “Niall? You home?”

“Living room,” Niall calls back, tilting his head backward to see Bressie coming into the kitchen.

He holds up the box of beer, moving to put some of them into the fridge. Niall grins toward him. “Buy a take-home dinner again?” Bressie asks, because he’s a little shit. Niall flips him off. “You shouldn’t have, honestly,” he adds sarcastically, winking at Niall before he puts down the last of the bags.

“I’m _tired_. I can’t go around cooking dinners for you when I’m practically dead on my feet,” Niall responds, crossing his arms and pushing out his lower lip. Bressie laughs, closing the fridge and making his way into the living room.

“You didn’t even get garlic bread,” he says, coming to sit beside Niall. He’s warm, changed out of his uniform and into his usual jeans and sweatshirt. Niall presses his forehead against his shoulder.

“Shit,” he mumbles, feeling Bressie’s fingers start to massage the back of his neck gently. “Knew I forgot something.”

“It’s fine,” Bressie murmurs, his lips pressed to his temple, “you can make it up to me later.”

Niall laughs, looking up as he points a finger at Bressie. “Am I detecting a subtle hint here?”

Bressie rolls his eyes, turning his head to look back at the television. He shrugs. Niall presses a kiss to his clothed shoulder; watches as he tries to fight back a smile. “Wasn’t really trying to be subtle,” he says with an alarmingly straight face.

“Keep it in your pants till after we’ve eaten, honestly. What would your mother say?” Niall asks, the timer going off on the oven and pushing himself up off the couch.

“Probably tell me not to do it on the table, if anything.” Bressie says, Niall flicking his ear before going into the kitchen. 

“You’re horrible,” he tells Bressie, who merely snorts. 

He picks up the oven mits left on the counter, putting them over his hands as he pulls out the lasagna. He puts it onto the stovetop as he moves to get some plates out of the cupboard. Bressie comes to help with the cups as he and Niall carefully maneuver around one another. 

“How was work?” Niall asks somewhere between putting food onto the plates and getting two beers out of the fridge.

It feels weirdly domestic and a little foreign to Niall, still, how they seem to have already figured out a way for the two of them to get around in the kitchen without making too much of a fuss. Asking how each other’s days are, all the while putting dinner on the table. The thought makes a strange feeling settle in the pit of Niall’s stomach. 

“Fine, mostly. We’ve got a big case coming up that’s going to be a bitch to deal with,” Bressie says, coming to sit across from Niall at the kitchen table. The television’s still on, playing in the background. Niall picks at his food.

“What do you mean,” Niall asks, taking the top off his drink.

“Someone’s suing the Malik Boat Company again. Except this time Preston says they’ve got a good enough claim, can probably win it if they make a good case out of it,” Bressie answers, his broad shoulders hunched where he’s eating.

“And that involves you… how?” Niall asks.

“We’ve been called in for a few cases of vandalism at the Malik’s company, their home, stuff like that,” Bressie says, not looking up from his plate. He talks about stuff like this so easily that sometimes Niall isn’t sure if he’s comfortable with it or not. “Things were kind of bad for a while there, but it’s mostly under control now. Just have to wait for this whole thing to blow over, I guess.”

Niall pauses, brows furrowed and tips his beer into his mouth. He doesn’t even realize he hasn’t said anything until Bressie clears his throat, giving him a concerned look. 

“When did all that happen? Recently?” Niall settles on asking.

“Yeah, most of it last week. The stuff with their house wasn’t until yesterday, though,” Bressie tells him.

Something like guilt grips at Niall. He swallows thickly as he takes a small bite of his dinner. He’s not that hungry, not anymore, so he spends most of dinner picking at his food with an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

Bressie does the dishes, Niall leaving his plate in the sink and goes back to the couch to finish watching the game. Sometime during commercials he takes out his phone, beginning to type out a name in his contacts as he opens a text to them.

He’s not even sure what to type, the blank screen not really inspiring any ideas in him. He locks his screen, putting his phone down before hearing footsteps come up behind him.

“Was thinking,” Bressie starts, massaging Niall’s shoulders lightly. His hands smell like soap and beer. “We could maybe go upstairs, hangout for a bit.”

Niall smirks, shivering as Bressie presses his lips to the sensitive skin just behind his ear. “I mean, I don’t have a lot else going on so I guess we could fool around for a bit.”

“Glad you can find the time to fit me into your schedule,” Bressie deadpans. Niall pulls on the zipper of his sweater as they go upstairs, his phone already forgotten.

— 

Before work on Monday Niall gets a frantic text from Liam asking to pick up some things he ran out of before he comes in. 

“Thought you didn’t start till later?” Bressie asks as he walks into the kitchen, getting some milk out of the fridge for his coffee.

“Don’t,” Niall says through a yawn, taking the cap off and pouring it into his mug. “Liam needs some stuff though, apparently didn’t order enough last week.”

Bressie nods, finishing up his toast and goes to put them into the sink. The dishwasher broke months ago but Niall hasn’t had the time or energy to try and fix it, so it mostly sits under the shelves, unused. 

“How much time do you have?” Bressie asks, palming Niall’s cheek and crowds him against the spice cupboard.

Niall feels himself flush, breath caught in his throat. He makes no attempts to move as he feels Bressie’s weight against him. “About forty-five minutes, give or take,” he says, shivering while Bressie starts sucking the side of his neck. “But I could always be a few minutes late,” Niall adds. Bressie hums in agreement. “Can blame it on traffic.”

“So…” Bressie trails off, hand brushing Niall’s dick through his track pants. “Traffic?”

“/Fuck/,” Niall breathes out, leaning his head back and grips the edge of the counter. 

It’s raining, sky cloudy while Bressie sinks down to his knees, and Niall’s sure he’s going to pass out. He takes in a deep breath. Bressie’s got both hands gripping at his thighs, keeping them both steady and sucks a kiss to his hip.

Niall always somehow forgets just how big Bressie is, how his shoulders are so broad, hands big and firm where he’s got his fingers pressing into Niall’s skin. It was one of the first things Niall noticed about him, saw his large frame from a few feet away and had no idea who the fuck he was. Which, in a town all small as theirs, was a new feeling.

Bressie’s got a hand at the base of Niall’s dick now, which is getting harder by the second — cheeks burning and heart beating in his chest. Niall lets out a small moan as Bressie licks down the line of his cock, tongue hot and wet and it makes Niall’s head spin in the best way possible. 

He moves one of his hands to Bressie’s hair, gripping it and trying to tether himself to something. He bites his lower lip, hard. 

But it’s not until Bressie’s got his lips around the end of Niall’s dick, sucking teasingly and pressing his tongue into the slit does Niall let out a choked noise. “What — did you do research without me?” Niall asks, voice breaking and he hears Bressie laugh against the inside of his thigh, breath warm and tickling his skin.

“Just a bit, here and there,” Bressie says, winking up at him. Niall groans, nearly bucking up his hips when Bressie’s got his lips around his dick again.

It takes a few minutes for Bressie to work up to having Niall fully in his mouth, lips red. Niall has to remind himself to breathe. His orgasm’s building his stomach, warm and insistent and curling and Niall can taste the blood, iron on his tongue where he’s still biting down on his lip.

There’s a sort of intensity to it, the same kind that Bressie has whenever he does anything, really. Niall can feel himself at the back of his throat. He comes easily after that, limbs loose and Bressie pulling off soon after, pressing a kiss to Niall’s knee before he stands once more.

He leans forward, kissing Niall’s lips gently and tugging him closer by the waist.

“Should wear track pants more often,” Bressie teases, running his tongue over the small cut on Niall’s lip.

Niall lets out a small sound, strained and breathy before kissing him back. “Could call in sick to work. Louis would never believe it, but,” he suggests, Bressie’s lips soft against his own. 

“As much as I would love that,” Bressie says, forehead against Niall’s, “I have things to do, and Liam has groceries that need to be delivered, so.”

Niall whines, shaking his head. “C’mon,” he urges, one of his hands tugging on the waistband of Bressie’s boxers.

Bressie huffs out a laugh, taking a step toward Niall and closing whatever space there could’ve been between them. “Always like to get your way, Horan?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Only when it comes to you,” Niall says, stroking Bressie’s dick slowly.

— 

He gets Bressie off, then jumps into the shower and leaves in a bit of a rush — putting on his shoes and giving Bressie a quick kiss before he’s out the door. 

It’s not quite raining, not quite yet drizzling, water all along his windshield as Niall turns the key. He’s got a list on his phone, tucked into his jacket pocket as he makes his way to the all-natural food market, because Liam’s insistent they get it from there and nowhere else.

“ _To all of you later risers, my name is Harry Styles, and I’m your radio host for this cloudy afternoon,_ ” Harry’s voice comes as soon as Niall flicks on the radio. “ _Since it’s a bit miserable, I thought I’d try and lighten the mood a bit, wherever you are. So this is City and Colour with The Girl._ ”

The guitar starts playing as Niall parks his car. He takes his key and pulls his hood over his head, taking a cart inside the doors and pushing it inside.

He doesn’t really know his way around this store. Niall pulls out his phone, checking over the list. He squints, trying to decipher brands and specifics while going through the aisles, only mildly annoyed he’s here. Because if he was at the inn he’d no doubt have to be down at the shed in the rain, which no one wants to do.

Niall makes good use of his time for the most part. Double checking he has everything, he makes his way over to checkout. 

He passes by a sampling of free-range chicken when he hears familiar voices.

“— It tastes weird, Zaynie.”

“Want me to finish it for you?” 

Niall looks over, seeing little Safaa Malik holding up a half bitten piece of food with a very prominent frown on her face. In front of her Niall can only see the back of Zayn, if the light blue button up shirt rolled up to his sleeves and black skinny jeans and very obvious Doc Martens are anything to go by.

“Alright, so what else do we need?” Zayn asks, one hand on the cart he’s got in front of him, carefully placing his little sister back into the seat.

Niall grips the handle of the cart tightly, knuckles white. He briefly wishes he could walk past them without them noticing, but that’s very unlikely.

“Niall? Is that you?”

He turns, seeing Trisha Malik a few feet away. Niall freezes; he’s been found out. He’s being cornered by the Maliks, of all people. There are worse fates, he decides.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he says, knowing Zayn has no doubt heard this exchange between them. “How are you, Mrs. Malik?”

“Trisha. Call me Trisha, please,” she corrects him gently, giving him her usual warm smile, pulling him into a brief hug before stepping back, gripping one of his elbows loosely. “I’m alright, you know,” she tells him, voice gentle. “What have you been up to?”

“Just at the inn, mostly,” Niall tells her, hearing footsteps coming up behind him. “Me, Louis and Liam are kind of running things now, so. It’s keeping us busy.”

Trisha looks impressed. “It is a lovely little inn. We went one weekend last year and have wanted to go back ever since.”

“That’s good. What we like to hear,” Niall says. Trisha laughs.

“And Zayn’s home, you saw him the other day? He mentioned it,” Trisha says, motioning behind him. Niall turns to look and sure enough, there he is.

“Yeah, he was at the store the other day,” Niall says, nodding. 

“Well, you should come over sometime, for dinner or something. What do you say? You and Zayn are still hanging out, aren’t you?”

It feels like a punch in the chest, the way Zayn gives a small, sad kind of smile just after his mom says it. Not that Niall has any reason to feel guilty about it, considering he was the one who left, ultimately. Something still nags at Niall though before he shifts, slowly, glancing back over to Trisha again.

“That would be great. I’ve missed your cooking,” Niall says, and Trisha smiles again. For a second; a very brief, fleeting moment, it feels like it’s how it always was. 

“Just her cooking?” Zayn asks, nudging Niall’s side lightly.

Niall laughs quietly, Safaa looking at him from the cart as he pulls his cart along beside him again. “I should go, though. Liam’s desperate for these things apparently, and you can’t really keep a head chef waiting,” he says. “It was nice seeing you, though,” he adds, Trisha nodding toward him.

“Always is,” she tells Niall sincerely, hugging him once more. Niall goes easily, Safaa giving him a short, shy wave. Zayn licks his lips, glancing over at him again.

“I’ll um — see you guys for dinner then,” Niall says, giving them one last goodbye before he starts off toward the registers, feeling like he’s almost ran a marathon when he finally reaches them. 

— 

Niall gets to the inn just in time to stop Liam from having some sort of mental breakdown in the kitchen, getting the bags of groceries from his car and bringing them to the counter where he’s still preparing the menu.

Louis has his head in the books with Greg, as Niall makes his way into his office. He’s got some more mail, a few messages left on his machine and emails in his inbox as he sits down at his desk.

He’s itching to leave the small, enclosed space, wanting to go out to the docks and finish the work with the boats. 

Instead, he hits the button on his office phone — playing through his messages. There’s one from Jesy, their accountant, another from Lou, the woman who owned the inn and essentially passed it down to Niall, Liam, and Louis, and a last one from Yaser Malik, of all people.

“ _Hi, Niall. I was looking over my inventory and was reminded that it’s that time of year again for you, boat season. I have a few afternoons that aren’t too busy next week if you wanted me to come by for my usual check-in? I have some new models you might be interested in, so let me know your budget and I can come by whenever you’re free. Hope to hear from you soon!_ ”

Niall groans, forehead pressed to a stack of papers and wondering if he’s ever going to make it out of here.

He’s got a text from Breslin saying he’s staying late at work, which means he’ll get home somewhere between ten and eleven, tried and a little grumpy by the time he crawls into bed next to Niall. Not that he minds all that much, he’s usually passed out or reading a book by the time he’s home, already ready for bed anyway.

He’s got budgets due next week, along with hiring someone so he’s not left doing all the work like he was last summer. And now apparently he has to find a day for Yaser Malik to come and spend a few hours looking at boats with all the money he presently doesn’t have to spend. 

So all in all it’s shaping up to be a great afternoon, really, Niall thinks hopelessly to himself while turning on his laptop.

Budgets take a while, as predicted, and Niall’s got a headache by the time they’re all finished. And, it turns out, he’s got even less money than he thought he did to try and get the boats back onto the water. 

“Well, I mean, we could just change it up a bit. Give swimming lessons instead. Or use those inflatable raft things,” Louis suggests a little while later, flicking through the papers. Niall snorts.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Niall says, rubbing a hand along his face tiredly.

Louis scoffs, taking his stack of photocopied papers and giving Niall a look before he turns the handle to the door. “Don’t say I didn’t give you anything,” Louis says, before his face goes a little more serious, “it’s gonna work out. I’m sure by the time Liam’s done all his budgets and we’ve all put our heads together there will be more for you.”

Niall smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, go back to work,” he says, flicking a hand toward him. Louis grins.

“Once you get some resumes and we’ll interview them in a few weeks,” Louis adds, “I put that ad in the newspaper for tomorrow so Greg and I will keep you updated.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Niall tells him. Louis gives him one last wide smile before closing the door to his office.

He picks up his phone, thumbing through his texts, pausing on Bressie’s name. He hasn’t replied to his initial text about being home later, not even when Bressie sent him a second one asking how his day was going. Niall should reply, he knows that, it’s just. After a few moments he hits the compose message button in the top right corner of his inbox. He pauses, chewing on his lower lip, considering.

 _Have fun at the market ?_ he types, then deletes it. _Soooooo . Whens dinner ?_ he also types, deleting it. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t even be considering doing this, Niall reminds himself sternly and puts his phone down again.

And so, instead of texting anyone, Niall pushes himself away from his desk, phone left in his office and steps out into the small hallway, making his way into the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly Harry’s there, laughing loudly at something Liam’s said, eyes bright and watching him mix something together at the island near the ovens. Niall smirks, rolling his eyes and pours himself a mug of coffee before approaching the two of them.

“Harry, don’t you think you come in here enough and distract the people here who are supposed to be working?” Niall asks, coming to stand beside him.

Liam laughs, quietly, eyes crinkling. Harry gives him an offended look. “I’ll have you know Liam asked me here to taste the new menu,” he says, flicking at a bit of Niall’s quiff that’s fallen across his forehead. “Said he needed an unbiased opinion.”

Niall blinks, brows furrowing. He looks over at Liam. “Unbiased?” he asks, one hand curling around his mug.

“You and Louis did have good insights,” Liam’s quick to defend. “But I just — I don’t know. Thought Harry might have some thoughts as well.”

Niall hums, tapping one finger against the surface of the counter and gives Harry a look. Harry, in turn, blushes, rolling his eyes and pushing Niall’s face away with his hand. He clears his throat. “I, for one, am very much a fan of these pumpkin pancakes. You should keep these, most definitely,” he says, changing the subject. Niall shakes his head.

“I have to go down to the docks,” Niall starts, picking up a piece of Harry’s bacon. He gives Niall a look for doing so. “Don’t let him take over your kitchen, okay?”

Liam nods, Harry grins. “What are you doing after work?” Harry asks, nudging Niall’s ankle. “Liam’s got a soccer game, so he can’t accompany me to dinner.”

“I thought you and Nick do your once a week dinner,” Niall asks.

“We _do_ ,” Harry says, pouting. “But he’s gone for the week — doing that special breakfast show at the boat show in Vancouver, so I’ve no one to go with this week.”

Niall sighs, loudly, but he’s mostly trying to bite back a grin before he looks at Harry once more. “Yeah, I’m free. Bressie’s working late, so I was just going to get some shitty take-out anyway.”

Harry puts an arm around Niall’s shoulders, pulling him to his chest. “Perfect. Martin’s alright?”

“Sure,” Niall says, pushing Harry away. 

“Since no one’s doing work in here —” Louis starts as he walks into the kitchens, a book tucked under his arm. He looks at three of them pointedly. “Are we still on for camping in a few weeks? Zayn just texted, said he could come.”

Both Harry and Liam nod, all of them now looking at Niall. He coughs into his fist awkwardly. “Well, I was thinking you guys could go and I’d — stay home with Bressie.”

Harry makes a gagging sound, jabbing a finger into Niall’s arm. “You’re not ditching me to get fucked by Bressie,” he says, (“ _Language_ ,” Liam chastises. Louis smirks.) “we’ve been doing this since we were _sixteen_. You’re not leaving us in the wilderness alone now. We need you.”

Niall looks at Harry, rolling his eyes. “It’s not the wilderness, it’s the orchard outside Liam’s parents’ house.”

“Technically, it’s a campground,” Liam pipes in. Niall sighs, loudly, hands tucked under his armpits and presses his lips together. “It’s not even on my parents property.”

“No time for discussing property lines right now, Payno,” Louis says, taking a slice of strawberry from his fruit salad and ignores the sound of protest Liam makes when he does, “you’re coming, Niall. You can’t get out of it.”

“What about the boats?” Niall protests.

“I’m sure Paul is more than capable of taking over for you for a few days,” Louis says flatly. 

“Plus, you agreed to cook on Saturday night,” Harry adds.

Niall knows this is a battle he can’t win, currently surrounded in his kitchen with no means of excusing his way out of this.

“Unless,” Louis says finally, breaking the silence once more. “It’s going to be weird being around Zayn?”

Niall pauses, briefly, all three of them _still_ staring at him almost expectantly. He laughs, forced and sounding more like he’s wheezing before shaking his head. “Not weird. Never weird. Why would it be weird?” he asks. “We’re fine. It won’t be weird.”

“You’ve said weird like, five times in the span of thirty seconds.” Harry says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s hardly convincing.”

Liam snorts, Louis swatting at his arm before Niall says, “honestly. It’s not Zayn. I’m just — stressed, right now. With summer starting and everything.”

Louis clasps a hand on his shoulder, briefly. “Summer will be fine. You’re going to come camping. It’ll be fine. Maybe even fun.”

Niall swallows whatever nerves he’s got, nodding and telling himself that Louis is right. They’ll be fine.

“I should go — got to do some things before my meeting with Yaser next week,” Niall says, making his way toward the door.

“Seven thirty?” Harry asks before he goes, Louis and Liam already getting into a small argument about Louis clearly ignoring Liam’s ‘not eating out of the bowls’ rule.

“See you then,” Niall says, waving to the three of them.

— 

He remembers the first time he saw Zayn, clear as anything.

They’d grown up together, him, Louis, Liam and Harry — Zayn moving to their town when they were in high school. Niall remembers walking into his grade ten English class, talking with Louis about something or other when he’d seen Zayn and, well. That was it.

“Who is that,” Niall asked Louis, trying to keep his voice low as they went to sit near the back of the room.

“Dunno,” Louis said back, “he’s hot, though.”

Niall blushed, ignoring the look Louis had given him when he’d noticed, wiggling his eyebrows in this ridiculous fashion before sitting in the desk next to Niall.

When he’d looked up from getting his binder out of his bag Niall had been surprised to see Zayn already looking at him. And when he’d been caught he hadn’t looked away quickly, hadn’t averted his gaze to make it seem like he wasn’t staring. Instead, he kept looking, this lopsided grin on his lips and biting down on the corner of it.

Niall had stared back, mostly in disbelief because hey, the new guy’s checking him out? Alright, Niall thought to himself, gripping his pen properly in his fingers. He can handle this.

“Harry says he has no idea who he is either,” Louis said, holding up his phone to show the text.

“Helpful as always,” Niall deadpanned, shaking his head. 

“Curious, though,” Louis said, chewing on the end of his pen, “he seems to be already interested in _you_ , Horan.”

“Shut up,” Niall snapped, opening his book. “He is not, leave me alone.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Whatever you say then.”

Niall’s in the boathouse again, has been finding himself here more and more over the past few weeks for some reason. Finds something oddly calming about the stillness of it, even in the cloudy sky, standing on the creaky wooden floor.

He’s got to go meet Harry in a few minutes, locking up the door and making his way out to his car. Louis left a little while ago, Liam just finishing up dinner as he reaches his car. Martin’s is only ten minutes away, the streets of downtown more busy on a Thursday night, which makes finding a parking spot more difficult.

There’s one near the end of the street, Niall putting some money into the parking meter. He walks with his hands in his pockets. It’s getting steadily warmer outside, only needing a thin jacket now, stepping into the restaurant. Harry’s already there, waving him over. Niall goes over to sit by him.

“You’re late,” is the first thing Harry says when he sits down, promptly handing him a menu.

“By two fucking minutes,” Niall bites back, opening said menu and ordering himself a beer when their waitress comes around.

Harry talks to him about the station, the usual things like his playlists he’s got set up, what they’ve got all planned for the upcoming year, that sort of thing. Niall always finds it a little funny, because when Harry first got the job he’d said he didn’t even really want it, claimed he was going to “find something better for himself”, but had stayed with it in the end. 

They keep talking, Niall laughing at whatever dumb jokes Harry makes, eating his order of ribs and Harry’s apparent usual of cashew chicken stir fry. 

“So.” Niall starts, wiping the corner of his mouth, eyeing Harry from across the table.

“Out with it then, if you’re going to keep staring at me like that,” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest and takes a sip of his beer.

“You and Liam have been getting cozy in my kitchen the past few weeks,” Niall comments, holding back a laugh at the look Harry gives him.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Liam and I have been friends since the third grade when he offered me his crayons when I’d forgotten mine at home,” Harry says simply. “You don’t just let people go who are that generous to you, you know.”

Niall snorts, loudly. “Seems a bit more than that,” he says.

“Oh my God,” Harry groans, tilting his head back and puts his free hand over his ear. “We’re friends. He makes me food, and I eat it. We talk about music. You know, friend... stuff.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. No need to get so defensive about it,” Niall says.

Harry stares at him blankly, putting down his drink and leaning back in his chair. “I’m sure. We’re just friends.”

“But you want to be more than friends,” Niall finishes for him.

“No,” Harry says. “I just — like Liam. A lot. He’s very nice to be around. Doesn’t tease me as much as you and Louis do.”

“We tease you because you love it,” Niall points out. Harry not so subtly flips him off where he’s still holding his beer glass, but doesn’t protest.

“How are you and Bressie?” Harry asks, very clearly changing the subject.

“We’re not done talking about you and Liam,” Niall says, but Harry shakes his head. 

“I think we are,” Harry says, swirling whatever is left of his beer in his cup.

“Bressie and I are fine. Great. You know, we’re —” Niall pauses, clearing his throat while playing with the end of the table cloth. “We’re better than ever.”

Harry pauses, brows furrowing as he looks at Niall. And for a moment, a brief one, Niall has a slight panic that after years of wanting to be able to read minds that maybe Harry’s finally done it, has finally been able to figure out how to get inside people’s heads and —

“Zayn being back isn’t a problem?” Harry asks.

“No.” Niall answers quickly, “why would it?”

“Well you guys have all that —” Harry trails off, waving a hand around as if this is going to help make his point clearer. “ _History_.”

History, Niall repeats in his head. That’s one way to put it, he thinks, swallowing thickly. “History’s in the past though, so nothing to worry about,” he says.

Harry hums, eyeing Niall before they both hear a voice, a few feet away.

“Niall, Harry.” It’s Zayn. Of fucking _course_ it’s Zayn, Niall thinks to himself and forces a smile.

“Zayn! What a surprise,” Harry says, standing, pulling him into a hug.

Niall pauses, unsure and a little awkward until he stands as well, Zayn hugging him before they step apart after just a few seconds. He smells like smoke and cologne; his usual self, Niall thinks with a slight ache of his chest.

“Came to pick up some food for my family,” Zayn says, holding up a bag of take-out. “Mum loves the bruschetta here. Says it’s just like the one’s she used to get at her favourite place in Bradford.”

They nod, Harry gesturing to their third chair at the table and Niall’s about ready to strangle him when he offers, “wanna stay for a bit? Hangout? We were talking about —” Harry pauses, if only for a half a second and glances at Niall, “work stuff.”

Niall genuinely hopes Harry can read minds so he can hear the string of curse words and possible death threats he’s got going through his head, directed at him.

“I would but I gotta go. Family’s waiting,” he says. “Another time though?”

Niall doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s eyes flicker to his face, lingering there a few moments longer than necessary. Harry makes a sound of agreement. “Of course. Maybe after camping?” he asks.

“That’d be sick,” Zayn says. “So we’re all going then?”

“Just confirmed as of today,” Harry says, not so subtly looking at Niall as he talks now. 

“That’s great,” Zayn says, lips pulled into a smile that makes Niall’s stomach do an uncomfortable sort of flip. “I really gotta go though, sorry,” he says, taking a few steps back, but Harry just nods.

“Enjoy the — bruschetta,” Harry says. Zayn laughs quietly, nodding.

“I’m sure we will,” he says.

And for a moment, a small one that has Niall’s heart racing, he’s almost sure Zayn’s going to lean over and kiss his temple, like he did whenever he was home and at Niall’s house, leaving to get groceries or go back home. It would be quick, a brief touch of his warm lips to Niall’s skin. But it doesn’t happen, and Niall finds himself feeling like he’s been stung somewhere on his heart, giving Zayn a final wave before he goes, left standing with Harry giving him a strange look.

“So. Just to confirm,” Harry says once they’ve sat back down. “There’s nothing going on between you two?”

Niall stares at his nearly empty plate, decidedly not looking up at Harry so he can’t get a clear view of how his cheeks are flushed. “No,” Niall says, voice quiet as he talks, “there’s nothing going on between us.”

He ignores the disappointment he feels when he says it; tells himself it’s better this way.

 

— 

Bressie gets in a little past eleven, carrying himself upstairs where Niall’s reading on his bed. He hears the doors first, pushing his reading glasses up onto his head as he glances over toward him.

“Hi, babe,” Bressie greets, leaning across his side of the bed to give Niall a quick kiss. “How was dinner?”

“Good,” Niall says, shrugging. “It was Harry, so you know. Interesting, to say the least.”

Bressie nods, smiling as he changes into his usual track pants and t shirt for bed. He’s quiet. Or, quieter than he normally is, Niall thinks before closing his book and putting it onto his lap. “Everything okay?” Niall asks.

“Fine, yeah,” Bressie answers. “Just gotta go wash up.”

He leaves the bedroom door open, Niall still unable to shake the feeling that something's off while waiting for Bressie to come back, book put away on his bedside table, glasses folded top in their usual place.

It’s hot tonight, hotter than its been in a while, Niall needing to open their bedroom window to get some airflow into their room. Bressie walks back in, pants low on his waist and no longer wearing a shirt as he runs a tired hand through his hair.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Niall asks when he comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

Bressie doesn’t respond right away, taking his time getting himself together before he finally turns, looking over at Niall. 

“I went to the store today, picked up a few things,” Bressie starts, and Niall really has no idea where he’s going with this story. But he’s mad, Niall can tell by the way his forehead is creased as he talks. “And I saw someone there. Someone you know, actually.”

Niall just stares at him. “Oh?” he asks, leaning back against the headboard.

“Yeah,” Bressie says, licking his lower lip. “I saw Zayn.”

Niall swallows, throat suddenly feeling dry. He shifts, slowly, trying to think of something to say, but comes up blank, gripping the sheets tight in his hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was back, Niall,” Bressie says. He’s not yelling, not raising his voice. He’s tense, shoulders drawn together and voice tight. 

“I didn’t — there was no reason to,” Niall says quickly, wanting to dissolve any fears that Bressie might have. “We aren’t anything, anymore. He left and that was it.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me?” Bressie repeats, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Have you seen him? Talked to him?”

“It’s a small town, Bress,” Niall responds. Bressie huff out a laugh, cold and detached that makes Niall’s chest tighten.

“When did you see him?” Bressie asks. 

“Just — a few times, I don’t know. It’s not a big deal, I promise,” Niall reassures him. He wants to reach out and rub that familiar part of Bressie’s back to reassure him. But he doesn’t know how Bressie will react to it. So Niall just sits, hands balled up with fistfulls of sheets and waits for him to say something.

“If it’s not a big deal you would’ve told me,” Bressie argues.

“It’s _not_ a big deal,” Niall repeats, firmer this time. “He’s here, and I’m going to see him, that’s something you have to get used to. But that doesn’t mean you have anything to worry about.”

His words stay in the air, the room now thick with tension. Niall watches Bressie carefully. It’s a few minutes until his shoulders drop, looking back at Niall, as if to make sure one last time.

“Are you sure?” Bressie asks.

 _I don’t know_ , Niall wants to say. _He drives me fucking insane and I don’t know if I trust myself around him_. “Yeah,” he says, nearly having to force the words out of his mouth. “I’m sure.”

He falls asleep to a kiss on the cheek from Bressie, guilt heavy on his chest. Niall closes his eyes and forces himself to get a few hours of sleep before work.

— 

Yaser Malik is a man always on time, and always true to his word. So when Niall tells him he should come Friday afternoon at one o’clock, that’s what he does.

Niall’s waiting out by the docks, pausing when he sees two people approaching him. And, sure enough, the second figure is Zayn — walking alongside his father. Niall ignores the way his heart is pounding in his fucking chest.

“Niall,” Yaser greets, smiling widely and shaking his head, “I brought Zayn with. Said he wanted to tag along, see how it all works. You don’t mind, do you?”

Niall glances to Zayn, who’s already looking at him, almost unsure. He nods. “Yeah, of course. It’s not — exciting, or anything,” Niall says.

Zayn shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he says, and Yaser clasps his shoulder briefly.

“We’re not here for a show,” he assures Niall. 

So they start out toward the docks, talking about boats and prices and how the year is going to look while Niall unlocks the door.

“I heard you’re one of the owners of this place now, is that true?” Yaser asks as they step inside, Niall turning on the light and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, only slightly sheepishly while he runs a hand along the back of his neck, “it’s not like a big deal, or anything. It’s shared between me, Liam and Louis, so.”

“It’s a pretty big deal though. That’s pretty impressive for you three at your young ages,” Yaser says, smiling before he adds, “you can be proud of yourself for that.”

Niall nods, eyes moving to see where Zayn’s looking at a boat, staring at it like he’s got no clue what to do with it before they start talking once more. It goes easily, like it does every year — going through what they need and what Niall is looking at spending. 

By the end of somewhere close to an hour it’s mostly settled, the three of them making their way back to Niall’s office to finish the paperwork.

“Why the sudden interest in boats?” Niall asks, walking beside Zayn with his dad a few feet behind them.

Zayn’s still looking ahead, a knowing smile on his lips. “You could say that,” he answers.

Niall holds back a sigh of annoyance. “What would you say, then?” he asks.

“Like it here,” Zayn says, opening the door. He lets Niall step inside first, his dad not far behind. “It’s kind of peaceful, don’t you think?”

Niall glares at him, briefly, Yaser starting to talk as they walk toward Niall’s office. He’s supposed to get everything he’s ordered within the next three weeks, signing papers and handing them over before Yaser shakes his head once again.

“What’s going on in there?” he asks, both him and Zayn eyeing the kitchen were a number of people are going in and out of the doors. 

“We’re just getting ready for that Spring Carnival this weekend,” Niall says. “So things are a bit — hectic, right now.”

Yaser grins, nodding. “The girls really want to go to to that. You won’t see Zayn, though,” he says, eyeing his son. Zayn rolls his eyes.

“He never was big on town events,” Niall is quick to agree, raising an eyebrow when Zayn makes a noise of protest. “You can’t even argue this,” he adds, now pointing a finger at Zayn. 

“I went to that thing in the winter. Once.” Zayn protests.

“The skate-a-thon? Where we spent most of the night hanging onto the rails and I blew onto your fingers so you could keep them warm?” Niall asks.

Zayn’s smiling now, just a slight tilt of his lips. Yaser speaks up again, “so you have everything? You’re all set?”

Niall glances to the papers, going through them quickly and checking off his mental checklist before he nods, slowly. “Should be all sorted. I’ll call you if I need anything, though.”

“You have my number. As always it’s been great, Niall,” Yaser says, smile wide and shakes Niall’s hand again. “I’ll meet you by the car,” he tells Zayn, leaving the two of them in foyer again. 

Niall shifts his weight, hands balled up in his pocket of his sweater and looks over at Zayn. “You’re just here for boats?” he asks after a moment.

Zayn licks his lower lip, taking a step back toward the door. “Just for boats. Why, you think it’s something else?”

And for a moment, Niall thinks Zayn might just say it. Say something that Niall can’t ignore, something Niall can’t twist into something else in his mind — can’t tell himself that no, there isn’t anything between them anymore. That he’s going to open his mouth and say something like, “I came here for you, Niall.”

“No,” Niall stammers, his thumb nail digging into his palm. “No, I don’t think there’s anything else.”

Zayn blinks, slow and lazily, so different from the chaos going on in the inn. “Alright,” he says finally, pulling a cigarette out of his jacket and putting it behind his ear, “it’s just for the boats, then.”

“I’ll um — see you later, I guess,” Niall says, awkwardly taking a hand out of his sweater and waving. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says. He’s one foot out the door behind he turns back to look at Niall once more, a hand wrapped around the handle of the door. Niall waits, holding his breath. “And tell Louis to reply to my text, will you? He’s being a dick and hasn’t responded to me all morning.”

“Well I mean, it is Louis,” Niall says, a strange mixture of relief and disappointment running through him. “Might take him a week to reply, if anything.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” Zayn says, giving Niall one last crooked grin before he goes. 

Niall waits until the door is firmly closed to put his hands over his face, groaning loudly and taking a few steps into the kitchens.

The first thing Niall hears is Louis, loud above the noise of anything else where him and Liam are standing over by the ovens, both of them looking up at Niall when he walks in.

“Hey, Ni,” Louis says. “How was your meeting?”

Niall shakes his head, wordlessly pulling a stool up to the island and pressing his forehead against the granite surface. “Looks like it went well,” Liam deadpans. Niall flips him off.

“Zayn says for you to text him back. Also wanted me to tell you he says you’re a dick,” Niall relays, forcing himself to sit up. Louis looks at him, confused.

“Wait, when did you see Zayn?” Louis asks. “Last I heard from him he asked if he could crash at mine for a few nights.”

“He was with his dad, walking out to the docks,” Liam says. “Saw them getting out of the car earlier.”

Niall nods. Louis’ brows knit together, apparently having missed the memo. “He’s got a sudden interest in boats, apparently.”

“Right, well.” Louis says, clapping his hands together. “If you two will excuse me, I have a phone call to make,” he says, starting back to the doors. Niall isn’t sure, but he’s fairly certain he can hear Louis mumble something like “‘sudden interest in boats’, my ass,” as he goes. 

Liam’s giving Niall his silent, sympathetic look from across the island, sliding over a bowl of cookie dough. “You’re a saint, Liam Payne,” Niall tells him, picking up a bit and putting it into his mouth.

“If you get sick don’t blame me,” Liam says, half serious before turning back to stir something. 

He doesn’t ask, though Niall knows he wants too. It appears everyone wants to know what Niall thinks these days, but only on one certain subject of someone with dark hair, tattooed arms and a still pretty thick accent. 

“You can just ask me, you know,” Niall says finally in defeat. 

There’s stacks and trays filled with an array of baked goods; cookies, muffins, cupcakes, pretzels and everything else one can imagine under the sun. It looks like Liam’s done, if the amount in this kitchen is anything to go by — but with Liam you never really know, Niall reminds himself. 

“Don’t want to ask,” Liam says, wiping his hands on a towel where he’s washing dishes. “I want you to tell me when you’re ready.”

And it’s simple as that, really. Niall swallows, eyes downcast to the bowl in front of himself and shrugs wordlessly. He could say it, finally get it off his chest and form the words he’s only thought up until this point. Because maybe if he does then it’ll go away, and all these thoughts and this constant badgering of himself in his head will end.

“Nothing to tell, Payno,” Niall says, standing from his stool and ignores the look Liam gives him response. “Just stressed about work stuff, that’s all.”

It’s always the silences that come with Liam that speak the loudest, Niall’s found over the years. And this one speaks in volumes, taking out the final rack of dishes from the washer. Niall swallows, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Alright, well. If you need me you know where to find me,” Liam says after a few moments, words slow and cautious. Niall nods in understanding.

He stands there for a little while longer, debating if he should get a towel and help dry the dishes or if he should just go back to his office and finish whatever it is he was working on. 

There’s not a lot of people around as Niall makes his way back to his office, pausing only for a moment when he hears a familiar voice a little way’s away.

“— Because he’s _happy_ , Zayn.” It’s Louis. And he’s pissed. Niall can hear his jaw clenched from behind the nearly closed door. There’s a brief pause, then, “I know. I fucking — I know. But you’re the one who left.”

He isn’t yelling, though that might be due to the fact that Louis is currently being surrounded by padded coats and jackets, absorbing anything other than a calm sounding voice. But he sounds gentle, almost — on the verge of sympathetic, Niall thinks.

“Okay, okay, no, you’re right —” Louis cuts himself off, and Niall feels his fists clench at his side. “Just, shit, I gotta go. I left Greg at the desk with a guest on a rampage about the state of the inn’s pillows but I’ll call you back, alright?” 

Niall can almost hear Zayn’s voice, but that might be just his desperate imagining what he’s saying on the line. “I’m not going to talk to him. If anyone needs to talk to Niall, it’s you. I’m not being the go-between here.”

Kind of already are being one Niall wants to say, nearly having to bite his tongue to stop it. It’s not until he hears movement, the door opening more does he slip into his office — Louis’s back to him by the time he’s got his door closed, forehead pressed against it and swearing under his breath. 

— 

“Remind me again why we’re going to this?” Bressie asks where he’s currently naked on Niall’s bed, nothing but a blanket placed low on his hips. Niall laughs, nipping at the skin along his chest.

“Because I’ve got to man the ring toss. No one else is going to do it, now are they?” he replies, sucking at the skin of Bressie’s hipbone and hearing him inhale sharply.

“Alright, but. I have a question then,” Bressie asks, pressing the pad of his thumb to the corner of Niall’s mouth. Niall raises a silent eyebrow, posed as a question. “Can you do it naked?”

“ _Jesus_ , Bress,” Niall huffs out a laugh, pushing his chest feebly in. “Don’t think anyone else will mind?”

Bressie shakes his head, a shit eating grin on his face. Niall rolls his eyes, pressing his forehead somewhere along Bressie’s ribs, spanning his hand out across his skin and feeling the warmth beneath the palm of his hands. Truth be told he wouldn’t mind bailing on the carnival, would much rather stay here with his lips pressed to Bressie’s skin and no more of his afternoon planned.

“If they do they’ll have to answer to me,” he says, and it’s here Niall leans up to kiss him, feeling his warm and familiar lips against his.

He pulls back after a few moments, their lips making a quiet smacking sound. Niall breathes out, and if he lets himself — almost feels dizzy with it, just for a second. Like how it used to be.

“I really have to go,” Niall says, nearly whining and presses a kiss to the underside of Bressie’s jaw.

Bressie pouts, cupping one of Niall’s elbows and pulling him close so their chests and pressed up against one another’s. “Stay,” he says, nearly a whisper and kissing the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll meet me there later?” Niall asks, slowly wriggling out from Bressie’s grasp and making his way toward his dresser.

“You said around seven, right?” Bressie asks, whistling while Niall looks for something to wear. 

“Probably closer to seven thirty, that’s when I’m off,” Niall says, eventually deciding on a pair of jeans and a white t shirt, grabbing one of his plaid shirts from the closet.

 _Where are you! Liam’s freaking out!_ Niall reads a text from Harry, frowning when he gets another one from Louis. _liams scared someone’s going to overthrow the ring toss. get your scrawny ass over here before i strangle him with a pretzel :)_.

“Seven thirty. Got it,” Bressie says, turning on his side as he gives Niall a wide grin. “Going to nap now, I think.”

Niall groans, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You’re the worst,” he says.

“See you soon, sexy ring toss man!” Bressie calls, Niall flipping him off before he’s out the door and in his car.

— 

As it turns out, no one was going to overthrow the ring toss, and Liam was panicking for nothing.

Harry’s presently at the booth with Liam, helping set up and occasionally ‘taste testing’ something, only resulting in a gentle scolding from Liam — who, from where Niall is standing, isn’t minding scolding Harry if it means he gets to hold his hand for more than a few seconds.

“They’re sickening,” Louis comments from beside Niall. “Honestly.”

“And the worst part is they don’t even know it,” Niall adds. Louis sigh, loudly, shaking his head while the two of them continue setting up with a few minutes until the gates open.

“God, don’t I know it,” Louis says. “Between those two and you and Breslin I feel increasingly more and more single every day.”

Niall smirks. “So you mean you don’t have a thing for Greg?”

Louis scoffs, glaring over at him. “You know not of what you speak, Horan.”

Niall makes a face, the lights bright where they’re playing in a sequence above his head. He’s got a number of rings in his hands, fiddling with them, bored, before glancing over at Louis once more.

“So, the other day,” Niall starts, not really thinking of a better way to start what he wants to say.

“What is it, then. I’m very busy trying to get this stupid fucking game together. I mean, who in their right mind wants to throw a fucking baseball at a bunch of empty bottles? It’s ridiculous. Archaic, even,” Louis rambles, sounding frustrated where he’s trying to line up said bottles on what looks to be a very unstable milk crate.

“I just — I don’t know. You left the kitchen looking really mad,” Niall says.

He mostly wants to ask what the fuck Louis was talking to Zayn about on the phone, but doesn’t. “Oh, what, after your boat thing?” Louis asks. Niall nods, watching Louis’ lips press into a thin line before he says, “nothing, I was just — you know. On edge with everything so that was nothing. Honest.”

He’s not telling Niall for his own good; probably doesn’t want to confirm what Niall already knows to be the truth. 

“Alright, well. Just thought I’d check,” Niall says slowly, decidedly not wanting to push the subject anymore.

Louis’ face is pulled into something similar to a guilty grimace, pausing where he’s holding two baseballs in his hands, as if considering. But Niall doesn’t want him to say it, isn’t sure he’s ready to hear whatever it is they’d talked about, he thinks to himself while adjusting the cash belt around his waist.

“Swear to God if they start making out at that booth I’ll spray fucking water at them,” Louis says, lobbing one of the balls at them. Harry lets out a surprised, mildly terrified for his life with the added shouting, “that’s not what balls are for, _Lewis_!”

Louis laughs, Niall snorting into the back of his hand, Harry waving a hardly threatening fist at them. “My hand slipped!” is Louis’ response, Liam shouting at them to do their work.

— 

The carnival is a success, which is great. But Niall’s been on his feet for somewhere close to eight hours and is about ready to do something drastic like hide under his booth when Greg comes over and honestly, Niall’s never been happier to see him than this moment. 

“I’m here acting as your relief,” Greg says. “I mean, if you want to leave.”

Niall nods, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “I’m so hungry James, you’ve no idea,” he says, removing his belt and passing it over to him. “Sure you’re ready for the next eight or so hours?”

Greg takes the belt, pausing if only for a moment in hesitation before he says, “since you’ve painted such a lovely picture for me then yes, I believe I am.”

“That’s the spirit,” Niall says, clasping his shoulder before he goes out from behind the booth. “See you on Monday, Greg,” he adds.

Greg nods, giving him one last smile before someone approaches him and his attention moves onto them. Not that Niall’s complaining, reaching for some money to get himself some food and remind himself that he’s never going to sign up to do this again.

Harry and Liam started packing up a little while ago, selling everything they bought a few hours into it start, which is a good thing.

He buys himself some french fries and a hot dog, wandering and eating and he takes it all in. Louis wandered off with Aiden from the kitchens a little while before Greg came, apparently rather big on the idea of doing a cake walk, whatever that is.

Growing up he’d only gone to a handful of these, mostly with Harry — some with Liam and Harry and the occasional Louis, if they could ever drag him out. Zayn would usually spend those nights with Anthony and Danny, the Riach brothers, who Niall’s only seen a handful of times over the years whenever they would fly from Bradford to see Zayn. Not that he minded, or anything; Zayn was never big on these sorts of things. And now, Niall’s starting to see why that is.

Then again, when he was sixteen he mostly wanted to see what it would be like to hold Zayn’s hand and walk along the grassy ground, no real path to follow and surrounded by a blur of lights and voices loud all around them. 

But that’s when he was sixteen, and this is now, Niall reminds himself and finishes off the last of his french fries.

“Hey, Niall!”

He half expects it to be Louis, with those ridiculous miniature donuts him and Liam are obsessed with. But instead turns around to find Zayn a little ways away from him. He’s got Safaa under one of his arms, Waliyha tugging on the sleeve insistently on the other. Niall pauses.

“Zayn?” he asks, now starting towards him. “What are you doing here?”

Zayn smiles, sheepishly, and shakes his head. “Doniya’s working tonight, and my parents didn’t wanna go, so. I got stuck with them,” he says, covering one of Safaa’s and Waliyha’s ears as he talks.

“I wanna do the catch a fish game!”, “I want cotton candy!”, “Mom said we could play two games, Zaynie,” his sisters are talking rather loudly. Niall grins, hearing Zayn groan.

“We got here _five minutes ago_ ,” Zayn reminds them. “Let’s decide what you want to play, then we can go get tickets alright?”

Safaa looks up at Niall now, eyes wide and she asks, “is he coming too?”

Zayn blinks, looking only slightly panicked before shaking his head. “Niall’s busy, Saf, he’s got things to do —”

“I don’t, actually.” Niall says, checking the time. It’s only quarter to six; Bressie won’t be here for another hour, at least. “Just got off my shift at one of the booths, so I mean. I am always willing to help pick a game with you guys.”

“You sure?” Zayn asks, giving Niall a way out.

“I’m sure,” Niall replies, seeing Safaa grin up at him brightly while looping one of her small hands around his.

He’d forgotten how careful Zayn is with his sisters. Apparently all those months Zayn’s been away has Niall forgetting a lot of things — watching how he bends down to talk to Safaa, explaining how she has to get the claw to pick up one of the stuffed animals, all the while Niall makes sure Waliyha doesn’t wander off with her cotton candy.

“I want the duck,” Safaa announces, pointing to the one she wants. Niall grins at Jade who’s behind the booth, apparently also raptured with Safaa’s endearing face. Her wink to Zayn goes unnoticed by Safaa. 

“Well, let’s see what you got then,” Jade says, hands behind her back while Safaa moves the claw.

And, two tries later, Safaa still hasn’t gotten it. Niall can see the frustration on her face as she looks up at Zayn, slightly helpless, but Zayn’s just got his usual, confident face on.

“You’re gonna get it,” Zayn encourages her, voice low. 

“I can’t do it,” Safaa says, now on the verge of tears.

Niall feels his throat tighten. Zayn shakes his head and places his bigger hand over his sisters. “Alright then. Want me to help?” he asks.

Safaa nods, biting her lower lip and they go again — except this time, by Zayn’s steady hand and Niall assumes to be a little assistance from Jade, she manages to get the duck.

“What are you going to name it?” Niall asks, glancing down where she’s go the duck clutched to her chest.

“Sunshine,” Safaa says proudly. 

“I like that,” Niall tells her, Zayn and Waliyha walking over to the game shes picked.

Waliyha’s a few years older than her sister, picking the dunking tank where the principal of her school, Mr. Simon Cowell, is sitting and looking a little too dry for Niall’s liking.

“How much would you have liked to do this when we were in school?” Niall asks, ignoring the way Zayn presses against him where they’re standing.

“God. So bad,” Zayn says, whooping when Waliyha manages to hit the target — sending Mr. Cowell into the water.

“Well, would you look at that,” Niall says, watching Simon splutter as he stands up in the water. “Dreams really do come true, Malik.”

Zayn swallows, not meeting Niall’s gaze. His fingertips brush the back of Niall’s hand; slow, careful, but his touch very real and exactly how Niall remembers it. “Guess they do,” Zayn says, softly, before turning back to high five his sister.

Niall feels dizzy, trying to keep himself together. He finds Safaa a few feet away — duck still gripped tight in her arms and he tries to breathe. 

A little while later, when the girls are tired and they’re just wandering aimlessly, Zayn hands Niall a stick of cotton candy.

Niall pauses, staring at it blankly for a few moments. “Am I — holding this for your sisters?” he asks.

Zayn laughs, the kind where he throws his head back, looking over at Niall again — eyes bright despite the dark night sky. “No,” Zayn says, “I bought it for you. Remember you always saying you had a weak spot for the stuff.”

Niall grins, taking a piece and puts it in his mouth. “You should try some,” he encourages, holding it up to Zayn’s face.

“No way,” Zayn says, pushing his hand away. His fingers linger on Niall’s wrist, loose and warm. Niall doesn’t move away. He should. _Knows_ he should, but doesn’t. “That stuff’s vile.”

“Vile is a strong word,” Niall says, looking ahead to see Safaa holding up the duck above her head, quacking loudly as she goes. 

It’s a few moments before Zayn moves his fingers, and Niall finds himself missing even the simplest touch before taking in a deep breath, steadying himself.

“They’ve always liked you, you know,” Zayn tells him, their arms knocking against one another’s as they keep walking.

“Who?” Niall asks, licking a bit of the sugary candy off his thumb.

Zayn stares at his lips for a moment, gaze flickering and seemingly losing his train of thought until he speaks again, “my sisters. Ever since Saf saw you at the store she’s been wanting to come to the inn. Says you have horses there.”

“Ah,” Niall says, “the horses we _used_ to have. Turns out, they’re a lot more expensive than you’d think.”

“Really?” Zayn asks, cocking his head. “I wouldn’t have guessed,” he deadpans. Niall shoves him, gently.

“You are the worst,” Niall states, but he’s smiling, so he’s sure he’s disproven his point within seconds of making it.

He misses the way Zayn would press his thumb into the dip of Niall’s waist. Misses how he would touch the inside of his elbow, or would play with the hair at the nape of Niall’s neck absently while they watched a movie.

“You don’t think that,” Zayn says, eyes focused ahead on his sisters.

“No,” Niall says after a little while, not even sure Zayn can hear him now, “I really don’t.”

Zayn’s about to say something, face pinched together in a look of concentration, like he’s about to say something he’s wanted to say for a long time, lips parted and almost ready to say it, until —

“Niall?”

Shit. Shit shit shit _shit_ , Niall thinks in a rush, turning around to see Bressie staring at him and Zayn. “Bressie?”

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for almost half an hour,” Bressie says, eyes moving between the two of them and walking toward them.

“Sorry,” Zayn says first, and Niall can see the way Bressie nearly twitches when he hears Zayn’s voice. And for about half a second Niall’s worried Bressie’s going to do something drastic like punch Zayn, inhaling sharply at the thought. “That was my fault. We um — I’m here with my sisters, and we got a bit carried away.”

“You’re fucking right you got carried away,” Bressie says, and he’s properly pissed when Niall steps between them.

“Alright,” Niall says firmly, looking pointedly at Bressie as he talks, “go over to that booth with the sunglasses and cool off, alright?”

Bressie shakes his head, looks ready to say something until Niall presses a hand to his chest; gentle, but insistent. “Bress. Go.”

He doesn’t argue anymore, giving Zayn one last look before walking off. Niall takes a moment before turning around, counting back from five in his head — his entire feeling like it’s shaking before he finally forces himself to look at Zayn.

“I should go,” Niall says.

“Niall —” Zayn starts, fingers brushing his elbow and _fuck_ , it feels like a fucking punch to his gut.

“No,” Niall says, shaking his head. He’s not going to give in. “I need to go talk to Bressie, and you need to be with your sisters.”

Zayn doesn’t argue. And a part of Niall wishes he would, just so he could have a reason not to leave.

“Alright,” Zayn says, lips pulled down into a frown. Niall makes his way back to the booth he’d directed Bressie too moments ago.

“Care to tell me what that was?” Bressie asks straight away, arms crossed over his chest; closing himself off.

Niall’s head is pounding. “We were hanging out. Or do you dictate who I talk to now? Maybe I should run by who I’m hanging out with so you can approve them?” Niall asks, immediately defensive. He shouldn’t be saying that. It’s cold, it’s mean, and it’s unlike him.

“That’s not what this is about,” Bressie snaps. “You know that’s not what this is about.”

“This is about you not trusting me,” Niall sends back, voice sharp.

Neither of them talk for a few moments — the screams of people still on rides happening around them. Niall sighs, rubbing a tired hand along his face. “Look — I’m sorry. But nothing happened. We were just — we were hanging out, that’s it,” he reassures Bressie, not even sure why there _needs_ to be reassurance. Especially when it comes to Zayn.

“Fine,” Bressie says. “If you say so, then you were just ‘hanging out.’”

It doesn’t mean this conversation is over, not by any means or stretches of the imagination. But for now it’s almost like a bandaid, holding it together best Niall can manage before they can get home.

He stops for a moment, unsure, before surging forward and kissing him — lips firm on Bressie’s mouth. He responds, to Niall’s surprise, his mouth messy and hot against Niall’s before pulling back.

“Alright,” Niall says slowly.

“Alright,” Bressie echos, now beside him.

Niall starts back toward his booth, Louis texting him to say he needs to talk to Niall before he goes. There’s not a huge crowd of people anymore, just a few clusters of them walking around. Louis is talking with Greg, practically leaning over the booth and laughing at something Greg says — eyes crinkled and smile wide.

Bressie’s quiet, the sort of silence that tells Niall he’s stewing, probably in his anger, as they come up beside Louis. “What, making sure Greg doesn’t get any work done either?” Niall asks, hooking a chin on Louis’ shoulder.

“In case you haven’t noticed —” Louis says, motioning around them. “There isn’t exactly a large line up for the ‘toss a ball at a bunch of bottles booth.’”

Niall makes a face. “There’s a name for it, you know,” he says as Louis snorts.

“This one seemed more fitting,” Louis says simply, uncaring that he’s wrong.

“We’re about to head out,” Niall says, Bressie giving Louis a wave. “What did you wanna tell me?”

“Oh!” Louis says, turning so he’s facing Niall. “Right, so Harry and I were talking and we found this great deal on tents.”

“Tents?” Niall repeats, confused.

Louis rolls his eyes, tapping on Niall’s wrist impatiently. “For camping, keep _up_ ,” he says. Niall decidedly doesn’t look at Bressie, swallowing. He waits for Louis to continue, “So we thought we’d just get a bunch of those and split the cost, what do you say?”

“Sure, yeah,” Niall says, taking a step back.

Louis pauses, studying Niall features. “You alright?” he asks after a moment.

“Tired,” Niall brushes it off, forcing a smile and nods to Louis. “But that sounds good, whatever you wanna do.”

“Alright,” Louis says, not fully convinced, “I’ll see you Monday?” 

“‘Course,” Niall says, hands in his pockets before waving to Louis and Greg one last time, him and Bressie walking back out to the parking area.

Niall doesn’t break the silence, pulling out onto the road toward the house. He sighs, tapping the steering wheel and ignoring the nagging feeling in his chest as neither of them say anything, not even when they get out and step into the house. 

He walks into the living room, arms crossed over his chest. Bressie follows behind. Niall stares at him a few moments, watches the way his shoulders sag while leaning against the doorway.

There’s no real way to start this conversation, especially with the two of them standing here in silence. 

“I don’t understand why you still talk to him, after all the shit he did.” Bressie says.

Niall blinks. “He just — he left. That’s what he did. It wasn’t like he was a dick to me, or anything,” he says slowly.

“So now you’re defending him? When you told me just a few months ago that you wanted nothing to do with him?” Bressie asks.

It’s clear where he’s going with this, Niall can see that from a mile away. “I’ve known Zayn since I was _fifteen_ , Bress. I’m not just going to throw away a friendship with him because he fucked off for a few months,” Niall says.

But, Niall’s not even sure if he believes that. 

“And just like everything’s okay between you two? At the drop of a hat?” Bressie presses, expression cloudy.

“It’s not — fuck, everything’s ‘not just suddenly okay,’” Niall says, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “But it’s just — that’s us. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Do you have feelings for him?”

Nialls throat feels suddenly dry, the question hitting him a lot harder than he thought it would. Bressie doesn’t move, doesn’t retract it — standing and watching Niall.

“I don’t know.” Niall tells him truthfully.

And for a moment, he thinks Bressie might leave — the thought sending a panic through Niall. He doesn’t blink; doesn’t do anything before Bressie speaks again, “and you’re going camping? With him? And didn’t think to tell me about that?”

Oh, fuck. Niall had almost forgotten about that. “We’ve all been doing it since we were in high school, every year. We didn’t know if Zayn would be back in time for it but, I guess he is.”

“I guess he is,” Bressie repeats. He still sounds angry.

Niall needs to say something, needs to form words and give Bressie a reason to stay. It’s dark outside now, the only light coming from the lamp in the far corner of the room. Bressie takes in a deep breath, arms still over his chest and not saying anything.

“I just —” Niall takes a small step toward Bressie. It feels as if he’s like walking on eggshells. “You know how I feel about you, Bress. How I feel about Zayn has nothing to do with that.”

There’s hesitation, it’s clear on Bressie’s face. He waits. Niall continues, “I want you here, with me. I want you to stay. I just — I really care about you, and I think we have something that’s really good. Don’t you think that?”

Bressie nods, silently, and Niall presses his forehead against his own. They stay there for a few moments, breath mingling together in the doorway to the living room and Niall curls one hand around Bressie’s waist. 

“I do think that,” Bressie says finally, voice quiet. It sounds like it’s on the verge of breaking; Niall smiles a little, bumping their noses together.

“Plus, you know,” he says, tracing an absent shape on Bressie’s chest. “I’d miss your dick too much.”

Bressie laughs, and Niall feels himself relax almost as soon as he hears it. There isn’t much else to be said, Niall thinks, tugging on Bressie’s wrist gently.

“You’re such an idiot,” Bressie tells him, but there’s a small bit of fondness to it.

It’s late, and Niall can already feel the day weighing on him — yawning into the back of his hand and looks up at Bressie once more.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Niall says. “Are you gonna come up?”

“Think I’ll have a cup of tea then come. You go, though. I won’t be long,” he reassures Niall, kissing his cheek briefly before he goes back into the kitchen.

He listens to the sounds of Bressie moving around, finding his mug and turning on the kettle. Niall closes his eyes for a few moments, ground himself. It’s been almost ten months but he’s still not really used to hearing Bressie in his house, isn’t sure how to make himself accustomed to that. 

A part of him knows he should be used to it by now; should stop comparing him. And as he goes upstairs and gets ready Niall checks his phone, seeing a text from a familiar number he doesn’t have saved anymore.

 _miss u._ is all it reads. Niall puts it on his bedside table without a second thought.

— 

“Liam’s not driving, I am.”

“The last time Louis drove he got a speeding ticket, need I remind you.”

“Honestly Payne, bring that up one more time, I fucking _dare you_ —”

“Alright, alright, no need to be like that.”

“Fuck off, Harry. Quit defending your boyfriend and be on my side for once for fuck’s sake — ”

“He’s not my boyfriend, what the fuck — ” Harry squeaks.

Niall’s been listening to three of them argue for the past twenty minutes or so, the four of them outside the inn as he contemplates rolling himself under the van and letting it roll over him. 

“You know what,” Niall says, the rest of them pausing mid-argument to look at him, “why don’t I drive?”

Louis is frowning, Harry’s face twisted up in a look of anger that is most likely directed at Louis, while Liam blinks — expression mostly blank before he shrugs.

 

This argument wouldn’t even be happening if they hadn’t decided to go to a different campground, one not one the edge of Liam’s parent’s house — instead up in the mountains and almost three hours of driving out of the way. But Niall doesn’t say this, instead waits until Liam speaks finally, “I mean, it couldn’t hurt.” 

Louis shakes his head. “No way, we’re voting. Since Zayn can’t drive anyway,” he says, hands on his hips. “All those in favour of me driving, raise your hand.”

No one does, except Louis. Harry snorts into the back of his hand, not even trying to cover it up. Louis kicks at his shin in retaliation. “All those in favour of Niall driving, raise your hand.”

Both Harry and Liam raise theirs. Louis flips them off, opening the sliding door and getting into the back seat and muttering something about “traitors, all of you fuckers.” 

Liam hands Niall the keys.

“I’ll ride with you in the front,” Harry says, clasping his shoulder while they walk toward the front seats. “Sound good?”

“You’re a shit navigator,” Niall says, grinning. Harry makes a rather offended face.

“Shut the fuck up and get into this van or so help me —” Louis starts, Liam piling in beside him. Niall gets into the driver’s seat.

The van is pretty packed by the time they get to Zayn’s, already waiting out on his front step. Harry’s brows furrow.

“He does realize we’re only going for three days, right,” Harry asks. Louis leans forward, flicking his ear. Harry makes a sound, high pitched and annoyed.

“He was in charge of drinks, so. That’s probably most of it,” Liam says, getting out and walking over toward Zayn.

Niall’s stomach is in knots, waiting for Liam to help load up the back while he scrolls through his phone. Bressie’s at work now; sent a string of texts this morning, having woken just after Niall had left.

 _Have fun this weekend!!! But not too much, because I’m not there ;)_ and another, _Miss you already :(_.Niall puts his phone into the cup holder, leaving them unanswered.

“You alright?” Harry asks, Louis now bickering with Liam about what constitutes “reasonable legroom” which Liam is apparently “not giving me any with the way you’re packing this fucking van.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, but Harry just narrows his eyes. “I’m just tired, calm down Styles,” Niall adds.

The side door opens once more, both Liam and Zayn getting inside. Niall checks the rearview mirror, making sure they’re all in before he turns the key.

“I’m calling it right now,” Louis says while Niall backs out onto the road. “Styles is going to get us really fucking lost.”

Harry turns in the front seat, smacking Louis’ knee with his map. Liam laughs beside him. “Swear to God if I have to come back there you’re both fucking walking the rest of the way,” Niall says sternly.

“Horan’s a little terrifying, who knew,” Harry fake whispers, and this time its Louis who laughs. Niall holds back a grin.

“You all fucking suck,” Niall says, turning onto the exit for the highway.

Harry starts in on what music they’re going to listen, which sparks a whole new debate from the backseat, but that’s not really a surprise. Niall only half listens to whatever they’re saying now, telling himself that it’s good he’s getting out of the house, and that it’s good he’s going away for a weekend.

Then why he feels so guilty, he doesn’t know.

 

— 

They stop off for lunch at a rest stop, getting some food and sitting out on one of the picnic tables. Louis leans over to take one of Liam’s fries, not even with a hint of subtlety.

“So we’ve got what, two and a half hours left of driving?” he asks, propping his feet up on Niall’s good knee.

“Something like that,” Liam answers, shrugging. “Should ask Harry though, he’s in charge of that.”

Harry’s next to Liam, head on his shoulder and flips them all off and takes another bite of his salad. None of them comment on it, Louis already making a bulk of the necessary salad jokes before he’d even left the building with it in hand.

Zayn’s quiet beside Louis, has been that way for most of the trip. Once or twice Niall had looked into the back he’d seen Zayn dozing off, falling asleep most of the way with his head tipped back and mouth slightly open. And if Niall had thought it was cute he doesn’t let himself dwell on it, taking another bite of his hamburger. He sighs, unlocking his phone.

He’d sent Bressie a picture of the mountains, and another of his food — but no response. Not that he’s reading too much into it, because he isn’t.

“Think you should Instagram my lunch,” Harry says, lazily lifting his fork before adding, completely deadpan, “you know. Salad-stagram.”

A beat passes before Liam laughs, Louis not far behind him as Niall grins, rolling his eyes. Zayn flicks a piece of food at him, also laughing loudly.

Somewhere in that moment Niall looks across the table, his eyes catching Zayn’s before he shifts, slowly, coughing into his fist before he turns back to where Liam’s asking him something. 

“I can drive the rest of the way, if you want,” Liam suggests, apparently having caught on to the number of times Niall’s yawned since they all got in the car. 

Niall pauses, considering. Harry’s off on some ridiculous tangent about sunscreen, of all things, before looking back at Liam once more. “Yeah, that’d be good. I mean — if you want,” he adds, but Liam just nods.

“I mean, none of us have been there so we’re bound to get lost eventually,” Liam says. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, anyway. We’ll get there before it’s dark out.”

“You’re a real saint, Liam,” Niall tells him, picking up his now empty bag of take-out and putting it in the garbage.

Everyone else follows suit soon after him, Niall handing Liam the keys while they pile back into the van. Harry’s in the front, and by some miracle Louis doesn’t argue it before getting into the back seat. There’s a moment, Niall hesitating, gives Louis a look — but he’s obliviously unaware that he’s taken the only seat that wouldn’t force Niall to sit beside Zayn. Instead, he’s asking Harry what Instagram filters he prefers. Niall shakes his head, going to sit beside Louis in the middle and tries to ignore the constant pounding in the front of his head.

He’s tired. And irritated. But mostly he just wants to go home already, doing up his seat belt as Zayn gets in next, sitting beside him. 

Niall closes his eyes and imagines himself somewhere else. Liam starts the car once more; the engine humming and Louis laughs at something Harry says.

“Everyone okay?” Liam asks.

When Niall opens his eyes he sees Liam staring back at him, concern on his face before they all nod. “Yeah, c’mon Payno we gotta go or we’ll never get there,” Louis says, kicking Liam’s seat before he pulls out onto the highway.

— 

Niall sleeps for most of the drive there, only staying awake to catch brief snippets of conversations here and there for the few moments he’s awake. But when car finally pulls up to a final stop Niall stirs, everyone’s voices getting louder as he blinks awake and — oh. He finds himself leaning against Zayn, head noticeably on his shoulder and wipes a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry,” Niall mumbles awkwardly, sitting up. But Zayn just shakes his head, hardly seeming bothered.

Niall can feel his cheeks flush, especially with Louis complaining loudly that he’d very much like to get out of his cramped van, thanks, does Zayn unbuckle himself and move out. Niall’s not too far behind him, thankful for the chance to stretch his legs. 

It’s colder up here, Niall needing to pulls his jacket closer around his body and takes out his phone. No texts. He frowns, putting it back into his pocket to see Harry and Liam already unloading the back of the van. 

“We’re like, right out the edge of a mountain. Who thought camping here was a good idea?” Louis asks while peering over the fenced in area where they’re staying.

“Because it has a nice view,” Liam deadpans, tossing a folded up chair onto the ground. “Help us unpack this food, will you?”

Louis grumbles something unintelligible but comes regardless, the five of them unloading and eventually getting everything out of the back — which is only half the battle. Next comes putting the food away (which Liam has a system for that as well, apparently) and setting up the tents.

“So — there’s bad news.”

Niall pauses where he’s putting up some sort of contraption for hanging their food from a tree, of all things. “What, Louis refusing to work again?” he asks.

Liam shakes his head, looking down at his feet for a moment before saying, “We only have three tents.”

Niall pauses, blinking. “We — what? How?”

“There wouldn’t have been enough room for five in the car anyway,” Liam says. “So we’ve got — two big ones, and that little single one.”

“The one with the holes in it?” Niall asks. Liam nods.

“I’m in a tent with Liam. He’s like a human furnace,” Harry says decidedly from a little way’s away.

Niall turns, seeing Harry and Zayn standing together — Zayn with his usual cigarette hanging from his lips, Louis sitting in one of the chairs and shrugging.

“I —” Niall starts awkwardly, ringing his hands together and looking around. “I don’t know, how do you want this to go?”

Last year he was with Harry, which went fine, though apparently Harry has different idea’s. “I’m not sleeping with Louis again,” Zayn says after a moment.

“What the fuck —” Louis says, glaring over at Zayn. “I was a great tent mate. Gave you some of my sleeping bag when your skinny ass was cold, if you remember.”

“You kicked me in the face. Several times.” Zayn points out, flicking the end of his cigarette. “ _And_ stole all the blankets. There’s no way I’m going into another tent with him.”

“So what, I’m exiled to the one man tent?” Louis snaps. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Unless Niall wants it?” Harry asks, glancing over to Niall.

If he doesn’t take it, then he’s with Zayn. But if he does take it, he’s left with bugs and God knows what else can get into that tent, Niall thinks in a small fit of panic. 

“You know what, fuck it. I’d rather sleep with the _vermin_ and _filth_ of this campsite than have to hear any of you complain of me kicking your faces,” Louis says, mind apparently made up where he moves to pick up the tent in question, holding it up. 

“Are you okay sharing a tent with Zayn?” Liam asks. “Because it kind of — looks like where this is going.”

Niall pauses, hand on his phone and unsure what to say. He can hear Bressie’s voice in his head, like it was at the carnival — unsure and concerned and _hurt_ , licking his lips before he says, “yeah it’s — it’s fine, Li.”

Liam waits for Niall to change his mind, but he doesn’t. “Alright,” he says, finally realizing Niall isn’t going to go back on his decision. “I’ll go — set them up.”

Niall watches him go, Louis already making a fuss of “you’ve got to set up mine first, then, what with no one picking me.” Liam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

— 

It’s practically dark out by the time Liam’s got the tents all set up, the food put away with Zayn and Louis in charge of getting a fire started. The fire takes a bit longer than usual, what with Louis getting hardly enough wood and Zayn calling him an idiot every few seconds. But regardless, they manage to get one going, Niall already close to freezing as he pulls his chair up close to it, leaning forward and holding his hands up toward the flames and feeling the warmth.

“Anyone got any good scary stories?” Liam asks. Harry makes a face.

“That’s never gone over well,” Harry says, holding up a marshmallow to the flames.

“It’s never gone over well because you refuse to listen to them,” Louis points out. Harry kicks a bit of dirt at him. Louis ignores him, opting out to lean over and look at Niall.

“Yes?” Niall asks, feeling Louis’ eyes on him. He doesn’t look up from the flames.

“Did you bring your guitar Horan? Ready to sing us a good time?” Louis asks.

Zayn’s silent beside Louis. The silence he’s taken to for this trip, Niall thinks. He nods. “Yeah it’s in the back. Fingers are too cold though, and it’s probably out of tune. I’ll look at it tomorrow,” Niall says. Louis rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. 

It’s somewhere close to midnight; Niall can tell by the way his eyes feel heavy and his body can’t seem to get warm. Harry’s talking again, face illuminated by the flames. Liam laughs at something he says — Louis arguing him. Niall takes in a deep breath, slowly standing.

“I’m gonna go to bed, I think,” Niall says, all four of them pausing whatever conversation they’re having to look over at him. 

“You alright?” Harry asks. Niall nods, brushing it off.

“Fine. Just tired, I think. Gonna go sleep off this headache,” Niall tells them, leaving his chair by the fire and makes his way back toward his tent. 

He hears their voices carrying on after a few moments, unzipping the front and crawling onto his side of the tent. There’s no notifications on his phone, just a text from his brother asking him something or other while unzipping his sleeping bag carefully. 

He could’ve stayed longer; his head isn’t even hurting that much, Niall thinks as he leans back against the lumpy mattress. His head just feels heavy, like it’s cycling through these thoughts he’s been going through for weeks now — not giving himself any spare moment of silence. 

Mostly it’s about Zayn, because when _isn’t_ it, Niall thinks bitterly to himself. Turns off his phone, putting it under his pillow like some sort of final word. Harry’s talking loudly now, the light from the fire allowing Niall to see the inside of the tent before closing his eyes, hearing the rest of them laughing at whatever he’s saying now.

And, with nothing in his head but wanting to sleep Niall lets himself drift off, finally.

 

When he blinks awake it’s still dark out, hearing Louis’ voice outside the tent.

“— You can have my tent, if its too much,” he’s saying, voice hushed. Niall shifts, slightly, registering his voice after a few moments.

He can hear Zayn exhale, most likely smoking again. Niall forces his eyes shut. “No, it’s fine. It’s not like I don’t want to be around him, or anything,” Zayn says finally.

“Alright, well. Are you sure you’re okay?” Louis asks again, sounding concerned. For some reason it makes Niall tense, with frustration and anger and something else.

“Fine, yeah. Quit worrying,” Zayn says. Louis laughs, quiet.

“I’m not worrying, I’m _asking_ ,” Louis says. Niall nearly snorts when he hears it. 

“Go sleep,” is all Zayn says. And when Niall opens his eyes, just a bit, he can see Louis put a hand on Zayn’s shoulder — silhouettes outlined in whatever light there is outside at this hour, his footsteps carrying toward his tent.

Niall doesn’t move when he hears Zayn unzip the tent, slowly, climbing inside a few moments later. The fire’s out but he smells like smoke — cigarette and the other kind, blended together on his clothes. He moves quietly, has always had that way about himself, which apparently hasn’t changed.

So he stays, unmoving, until Zayn says something. It’s quiet, barely audible in the silence of the night, but Niall can hear it — can always hear Zayn’s voice, it feels like.

“Ni? You awake?”

Niall doesn’t let himself move, or open his eyes. Instead he stays, taking in a shaky breath before hearing Zayn shift, getting into his sleeping bag, neither of them moving in the stillness of the late hour.

 

— 

Niall wakes up just as the sun starts to rise, the early-morning fog still along the ground. Quietly, he unzips the tent, making sure not to wake a still sleeping Zayn and steps outside. 

To his surprise Liam’s already awake, the sound of him moving around the fire pit. Niall approaches him slowly. He rubs his eyes tiredly, yawning; Liam looks up where he’s got something cooking in a pan. 

“You’re up early,” Niall comments absently, putting his hands into his pockets to try and warm them up.

Liam shrugs, wordlessly handing him a paper with food on it. Niall accepts it. It’s quiet, everything settled into some kind of stillness that Niall’s grateful for, picking at his scrambled eggs with his fork.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Liam tells him. “Still on work time, I guess.”

Niall makes a sound of agreement, taking a bite and chewing. There’s no movement from any of the other tents, apparently the rest of them into the habit of sleeping in, Niall thinks with a bit of jealousy. 

“No one makes eggs like you do, Payno,” Niall says, watching Liam smile where he’s bent over washing his pan.

Niall leans back in his chair, coffee now at hand and sighs. “I bet you say that to everyone who makes you scrambled eggs,” he teases, flicking a bit of soapy water toward him. Niall smirks.

“Never,” Niall says, sipping a bit of his coffee and welcoming the warmth and closing his eyes for a few moments.

“Everything alright?” Liam asks, breaking the silence between them. Niall opens his eyes again, glancing back toward the tents before nodding once.

“Fine, yeah,” he says slowly. “Just — adjusting, I guess.”

Liam gives him a soft look, the kind with sympathy and uncertainty mixed into it, but doesn’t push it anymore. Niall doesn’t say anything, just shifts in his chair and presses his lips together thoughtfully.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Liam asks.

“Dunno. Louis said he wanted to go canoeing, or something,” Niall says. 

Liam snorts. “This won’t end well,” he says, and Niall doesn’t argue with him.

Instead, he just sits and enjoys the silence — Liam now beside him and neither of them really saying anything, which Niall is pretty content with.

— 

The end up going canoeing, if only because Louis insists it will be a good “bonding experience for the five of them.”

“We’ve all be friends for almost a decade,” Niall points out where they’re hauling out the two canoes onto the waterfront. “I don’t think we need anymore bonding experiences, if I’m honest.”

“Yeah, especially after that one year Harry decided to go naked for a whole week,” Zayn adds, wincing at the memory.

“Heyyyyy,” Harry draws out. “You can’t say anything, you’re not even coming.”

“There isn’t enough room in the canoes,” Zayn points out.

Harry frowns. “We offered to make room,” he argues.

“He’s probably the smarter one here,” Niall motions to Zayn, Harry flipping him off while they get themselves assembled. 

It’s Liam and Louis in one, Harry and Niall in the other — Zayn opting himself out to sit on the solid ground and most likely laugh at their idiocy, which. Niall can’t really blame him for. 

He hasn’t been out on the water in what feels like years, unsteady while lowering himself into the canoe, Harry not too far behind him. Liam yells at Louis for something, most likely rocking the boat.

“Live a little, Payne,” Louis snaps, cupping water in his hands and throwing it at Liam.

“Do that again, Tommo,” Liam says threateningly. “I fucking promise you’ll regret it.”

Louis laughs, but doesn’t throw anymore water — Harry picking up his paddle while Niall pushes his into the water.

“This is a bad idea,” Niall says. Harry, from the front, doesn’t move.

“We’re just a bit rusty, that’s all,” Harry reassures him. Niall isn’t convinced. 

Liam and Louis are a bit more organized, now a ways ahead of them. Niall groans, still having issues steering with Harry’s haphazard rowing in front of him. But he doesn’t say anything, just glances back toward the docks where Zayn’s waving at him. Niall smiles, forced and awkward, giving a small wave back before he starts off with Harry on the water again. 

It’s late afternoon now, the water thankfully still and the air not too cold while Niall holds his paddle carefully. For the most part it’s peaceful, even though he has no idea where the fuck they’re going — mostly right now it seems to be in circles, but Harry isn’t complaining and Niall takes that as a good sign. 

He can hear Louis chatting up ahead, him and Liam annoyingly farther along. Niall tries to ignore them. Harry’s oddly quiet, pointing out a few things along the way and Niall follows wherever he points. They were going to go fishing but eventually decided not to, Louis apparently not wanting to have to go through the trouble of getting everything out.

Zayn’s still on the docks, reading a book on a chair. Niall glances back at him, briefly, thankful for not being caught before turning his head back to focus on where he’s going. 

“Niall.” Harry says finally, voice steady and calm. Which is the part that has Niall concerned.

 

“What is it,” Niall asks, seeing Harry’s shoulders tense.

“There’s something in here,” Harry says slowly.

“What do you mean, is it a bug?” Niall asks. 

Harry twitches, briefly, and Niall’s got a bad feeling he’s going to end up in the water with how this is going to play out. “I think so. It’s fucking huge. Turn around,” Harry instructs, waving a hand behind him toward Niall.

“We are not getting off this boat for a _bug_ ,” Niall says firmly. “Squish it with your boot, or something.”

“Not a bug,” Harry says, talking faster as he adds, “not a bug, not a fucking bug — shit, Niall, it’s a fucking _squirrel_.”

Niall pauses, brows furrowing. “No way there’s a fucking —” he starts, but is cut off by a high pitched sound coming from Harry’s feet as he freezes. “Are you fucking with me, Harry, don’t fuck with me right now —”

“It’s a fucking squirrel, get me the fuck off of here —” Harry’s saying, shifting and moving which causes the canoe to sway and oh, fuck, Niall thinks in a slight panic.

“Harry, Harry — stop fucking moving —” Niall starts, but Harry doesn’t seem to be listening before he yells, loudly.

“What are you doing? You’re supposed to keep the boat _upright_ , Harold — ” Louis calls.

“Everything alright?” Liam adds on after a moment.

“It’s going to fucking _eat me_ —” Harry’s practically screeching at this point, any and all wildlife and living thing most likely awake where he’s making quite the fuss.

“It’s the size of your hand it’s not going to eat you —” Niall’s trying to reassure Harry while also somehow simultaneously get this boat to the docks and make it there without them tipping over.

“It got itself on this canoe, who’s to say it isn’t going to kill us?” Harry snaps, letting out a yell; Niall jumps when he hears it. 

Liam and Louis are yelling things at them, and Niall can see Zayn standing on the docks with a concerned look on his face. Niall tries to calm Harry down, which seems useless at this rate.

“Squirrels aren’t that smart —” Niall says, shifting. They’re nearly at the docks.

“Harry if you tip this I swear to fucking God —” Niall starts, but it’s too late.

“It’s on my leg it’s on my leg, Niall it’s on my fucking _leg_ —” Harry’s saying, shifting with sharp movements so there was no hope for them, really, when the canoe finally topples over.

The water’s fucking cold, mostly due to the fact that it’s not summer yet — the ice only having melted a few weeks ago as Niall pushes himself up to the surface. Harry’s not far behind him, Louis and Liam still shouting at them still as Niall pulls his paddle along with him.

He kicks at Harry’s legs under the water, the two of them moving to get the canoe to the docks. Niall shivers under the water.

“Here, let me —” Zayn says, crouching down. He helps them get the canoe up first, then helps both Harry and Niall.

“My life was on the line,” Harry says, pouting. Zayn goes up to get some towels for them.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Niall says, bumping his forehead affectionately against Harry’s shoulder.

“I didn’t want rabies,” Harry defends, laughing into Niall’s wet hair.

Liam and Louis join them a few moments later, Zayn coming back and handing Harry and Niall their respected towels — Louis going back to start a fire so him and Harry can warm themselves up a bit more. Liam’s helping Harry dry himself off, Harry’s hair a mass of curls on his head. Liam laughs at something he’s said, the two talking in hushed voices. Niall takes in a shaky breath.

“Alright?” Zayn asks, taking Niall from his thoughts.

Niall blinks, glancing up where Zayn’s in front of him. “Yeah just — cold,” Niall says after a moment, rubbing the towel against his wet clothes.

“Here —” Zayn starts, reaching out before looking at Niall, as if asking permission. “May I?”

He should say no. But he’s so cold and Zayn looks so warm, standing there in his joggers and sweater that Niall finds himself nodding wordlessly. Zayn’s reaction is immediate, hands pressing the towel against Niall’s clothes and a gentle arm around his shoulders while making their way back toward the tent.

“I’ll just — grab you some clothes,” Zayn says, sticking his head in and hands them to Niall in a small pile.

Niall thanks him, still shivering as he carefully strips himself, each layer making him cold with his teeth chattering by the end of it. But Zayn doesn’t go, and Niall feels himself blush where he’s taking off his shirt, of all things, clearing his throat awkwardly while looking at the towel still in Zayn’s hands.

“Right, shit, sorry —” Zayn starts, putting the towel around Niall. He rubs it along his skin, drying him off. 

Niall feels warm all over then, suddenly, his heart racing in his chest. He tries to busy himself with putting on his plaid shirt, a jacket overtop. Zayn looks at him — lashes long and gaze lingering on Niall’s face.

“I um, think I got it from here,” Niall says, because all he has to do now is change his pants and, well.

“Sure, of course,” Zayn says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll um — see you over there,” he adds, motioning to the fire that’s going.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Niall says, kicking off his wet shoes and stepping into the tent. 

Some of Zayn’s clothes are across his bed, along with another book and a sketchbook. He puts his wet pants outside to hang up when he’s done in here. He puts on a pair of track pants and socks, thankful for the warmth where he sits on the edge of his mattress, reaching under his pillow.

He turns on his phone, the battery nearly dead and waits for the screen to turn on. When it does he finds no texts, no snapchats, nothing. Niall frowns, tapping the screen to open up his chat with Bressie; still at the last text he’d sent a few days ago.

Niall doesn’t text him, putting his phone away and walking out of the tent to hang some of his things out on the line before going over toward the fire. Harry’s bundled up in a few blankets beside Liam, Louis handing him a plate of dinner. Niall settles into a chair beside Zayn. 

“So, for future reference,” Louis starts, leaning back in his chair where he’s on the other side of Zayn, “when we go canoeing, always check Harry’s boat for squirrels.”

Niall laughs, loudly. Harry rolls his eyes, Liam smiling into Harry’s hair and Zayn snorts. “To be honest, I’m not even sure there was one in there,” Niall says, taking a bite of his pasta. Harry scoffs.

“It was a fucking squirrel, I swear to God,” he argues, pouting.

Zayn’s giving Niall an amused look before looking down at his lap, fork in his hand. Liam hands Niall a mug of tea, steam coming off the top. Niall cups it in his still cold hands.

“Probably won’t go on the water again if I’m honest,” Niall says, grinning. Harry glares at him.

“Reminds me of when our dearest Harold pissed off a skunk in my backyard that one year when we all camped out in my backyard for my birthday,” Louis says, reminiscent. “Couldn’t get the smell out of my clothes for two fucking weeks.”

“Fuck,” Zayn says, adjusting his beanie on his head. “What did he even do to get it mad?”

“Threw a stick at it,” Niall says, “claimed it was ‘foolproof because he’d seen it on the nature channel’, or something.”

“In my defence —” Harry starts, now practically sprawled out on Liam’s lap in his chair. Not that Liam seems to mind, really. He’s sitting with a permanent smile on his face, listening to Harry talk. He continues, “it did leave after that.”

Louis smirks. “So you think if I throw a stick at you, you’ll leave too?” he asks.

“I’m not a fucking skunk,” Harry sends back, rolling his eyes. Niall barks out a laugh.

Niall feels more comfortable, leaning back as he glances over to see the sun nearly set — the sky dark as he pulls his hoodie from his sweater up over his still slightly damp hair.

Harry starts in on another story, Niall staying quiet while listening, eyes heavy and perfectly content.

— 

“I won’t even know what’s going on,” Niall says while pulling into the drive-in, glancing over where Zayn’s in the passengers seat.

“I can explain it to you. It’s pretty simple, honest,” Zayn reassures him, taking out his wallet. “What do you want?”

“Just some popcorn, I guess. Maybe some of those licorice things,” Niall says. Zayn nods before opening the door, making his way to the concession stand.

Niall takes in a deep breath, hands in his lap awkwardly. He shouldn’t be nervous. They’re just seeing a movie. As friends. So there’s nothing to worry about, he reminds himself.

They’re going to sit in the back of his parents beaten up old pick-up truck, the paint chipped and some blankets in case it gets cold. Niall goes, closing the passenger’s side door and putting the keys into his pocket. Tonight it’s a showing of the new Iron Man movie, along with something else Niall can’t even remember the title of.

 _be cool_ , Louis texts him before Zayn gets back. _and remember: if he looks at your lips, he wants to kiss you_.

 _Then what do i Do ???_ Niall sends back. 

Niall exhales, putting his phone away and getting into the back, feet hanging over the edge.

They’re in senior year of high school, and it feels like him and Zayn have been playing this game of cat and mouse for the two years they’ve all been friends, the five of them. It started when Louis had not so subtly started talking to Zayn in their calculus class, dropping a pencil beside Zayn’s desk and somehow wound up inviting him to eat lunch with the four of them.

And yeah, Niall has a crush on him, who doesn’t. It’s not that hard to fall prey to his quiff and jawline, along with his dark eyes — not too mention his boots and skinny jeans, so what, Niall’s only human after all. 

They’re friends. Him and Zayn. They’re pals, or whatever else you want to call them. But at times — when they’re watching a movie, or out with the five of them, Niall’s sure they’re more than that. Gets this feeling somewhere in his gut, heavy and no question about it, that there’s something else there. Always left unsaid. 

 

“They didn’t have the licorice things —” Zayn’s voice causes Niall to jump, looking over at him while tossing a bag of Starbursts into his lap, “but I thought these were better, anyway.”

Niall grins, leaning over to take a piece of popcorn and Zayn comes to sit beside him. He’s warm; is always fucking warm, smelling like smoke and cologne.

“Not bad for thinking on your feet,” Niall says, unwrapping one of the candies. “You can be on snack duty again, I think.”

Zayn nods, face pulled into a serious expression. “I take that as the highest of compliments,” he teases. Niall scoffs, nudging Zayn’s shoulder.

“You should. Harry’s been taken off since he bought those chocolate covered raisins the other week,” Niall says, and Zayn just grins at him in the dim lighting of the car park.

 _then you kiss him, you idiot. take his face in his hands and kiss the ever-loving crap out of him._ Louis texts back a few moments later and Niall can very clearly picture his eye roll while reading it. Niall doesn’t respond, doesn’t wanna risk Zayn seeing it before he puts it away for good.

“So what’s the history of Iron Man again?” Niall asks, taking another handful of popcorn.

Zayn groans, shaking his head. “You know,” he starts, tapping a finger against Niall’s knee while he talks. “One of those ‘I am rich and don’t want to deal with my own problems so I’m going to become a superhero and save the world’ types.”

Niall makes a face, confused. “What, like Batman?” he asks.

“Kind of,” Zayn unhelpfully responds, reaching over to take a Starburst from the bag still in Niall’s lap. 

“Is he your favourite?” Niall asks as the previews start playing.

Zayn shifts, his side pressed right up against Niall’s while they lean against the back of the truck, trying to get comfortable. He makes a small noise, as if considering, before he finally answers, “I mean, he’s pretty up on the list.”

“Who’s your favourite then? Superman?” Niall presses.

“God, no. I have _some_ taste,” Zayn says, mildly offended.

“Alright, well,” Niall says, unmoving. He feels like he’s completely on edge, every part of his body waiting for Zayn to do something, anything. “You gonna tell me or am I going to have to sit here and guess?”

Zayn licks his lower lip, which, sure, Niall thinks briefly to himself. He takes in a deep breath and lets himself wonder for the pause before Zayn speaks if his lips are salty with the butter from the popcorn, or sweet from the Starburst.

“The Hulk,” Zayn says, eyes focused on the screen ahead.

“That’s the big green one, right?” Niall asks, mostly kidding. But also wanting to make sure he isn’t going to get it wrong. 

He can see Zayn’s smile where he’s sitting, everyone else around them quiet before nodding. There’s a moment when Niall’s sure Zayn’s going to shush him, or something, but then Zayn’s shifting close, lips nearly touching Niall’s earlobe. He laughs, quietly. “Yeah, he’s the big green one,” he tells Niall.

It sends shivers up Niall’s spine, real and nearly crippling him and chews on the bit of Starburst still in his mouth. The movie’s starting now, and Niall really doesn’t have any sort of clue what’s going on — he’s mostly trying to keep himself from doing something ridiculous with Zayn this close next to him.

The thing is. The thing _is_ , Niall thinks, is that he’s wanted this for so long, he doesn’t want to miss any second of it. Not the way Zayn shifts every so often, not ever laughing out loud but keeping his lips together — every once in a while forming them into a grin, his tongue pressing against his teeth in a way Niall knows well.

“So this is Iron Man?” Niall asks, brows furrowed together.

Zayn turns his face a little, looking at Niall and biting down on the corner of his lip. Niall’s going to die. “Yeah he’s the — one with a lot of money,” Zayn says, watching Niall as he nods slowly.

“Sure, right. Rich guy with a big suit made out of iron,” Niall says, voice hushed. “But he’s in love with Gwyneth Paltrow, right?”

He can see Zayn playing with a wrapper in his hands, folding it carefully before shrugging. “Guess you’ll have to see the other two when they come out to answer that,” he says.

“There’s going to be _more of these_?” Niall asks, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to be broke by the end of this.”

“Yeah, but how else will you know if him and Pepper end up together,” Zayn says, seemingly not bothered by the sad state of Niall’s bank account.

“Who’s Pepper?” Niall asks. “Like the vegetable?”

Zayn presses his forehead against Niall’s shoulder, muffling his laughter. Niall feels warm all over at the brief contact. “You haven’t been paying attention at all, have you?”

Niall’s only briefly glad it’s so dark out to hide his blush. “It’s _confusing_ ,” he says, and Zayn doesn’t argue.

Truthfully he’d looked up a bunch of things about Iron Man before going with Zayn, but none of it is making sense where Niall’s sitting. But he doesn’t ask anymore questions, just sits still where he’s got his legs out in front of him — fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt and tips his head back.

There’s a moment — somewhere in the middle of the movie — or close to the middle, Niall’s not all that sure — when Zayn’s hand comes and just. Rests, on his arm. Niall swallows, feels the nerves grip him tightly and tries to fucking breathe, throat feeling tight and chest like its caving in all at once. The touch feels like a question — as if Zayn’s making sure he can do it, or something.

Because this isn’t a ‘hey we are just pals touching at a movies’ touch. This has more of a ‘hey we are at a movies and I’m halfway to holding your hand romantically’ feel to it, Niall thinks. A part of him wants to pull out his phone and text Louis to ask what this means, but refrains if only because he doesn’t want to give Zayn the wrong idea. 

So he stays still. Or tries to, without giving Zayn the impression that he’s freaking the fuck out. Because Niall isn’t freaking out, it’s just.

He’s liked Zayn for a really fucking long time. And right now, in the back of his parents shitty old truck, it feels like he could maybe — have that. Or something close to that. So Niall doesn’t move his arm, just keeps it there.

There’s a small pile of Starburst wrappers around them, popcorn littered along their laps and a movie playing but all Niall can seem to care about is the way Zayn’s pressing his thumb into Niall’s arm, ever so lightly. Something happens, then, an explosion of some kind and Niall nearly jumps out of his skin while also letting out a small sound of surprise.

And, without a moments hesitation, Niall suddenly feels something on his palm — warm and gentle and oh, fuck, he realizes after a moment. It’s Zayn’s hand on his, fingers intertwined and gripping at it in surprise much similar to Niall’s.

Niall swallows, though his throat feels like sandpaper as he grips back, just a little. Zayn’s hand is bigger than his, and warmer — his nails looking healthier than what Niall bites his down to, their pathetic size, he thinks to himself with a small bit of insecurity.

Not that nail size is anything to be insecure about.

Maybe he should say something. Or maybe he should just sit here, holding Zayn’s hand, and try to tell himself that it doesn’t mean anything to him, not in that way.

“Hey, Ni,” Zayn murmurs after a moment.

Niall blinks, eyes still locked on the screen before moving to look at Zayn. “Hold on, I think Robert Downey is about to put the moves on Gwyneth —” Niall starts, but he’s cut off because.

Zayn kisses him. There’s an awkward bumping of their noses against one another, Niall mid sentence when Zayn presses his lips to his. Or, most of Niall’s lips — it’s somewhere around half of his lips, making a loud smacking sound when they pull apart.

Niall finds himself suddenly not caring about the movie, or his half eaten bag of Starbursts, seeing Zayn looking at him with wide, uncertain eyes. 

“Are you kidding me, Malik, why didn’t you do this sooner —” Niall starts before he leans in this time, kissing Zayn once more.

He doesn’t let go of Zayn’s hand, feeling the other boys warm, soft lips against his. There’s stubble along Zayn’s upper lip, Niall soon finds, but he also finds himself not caring as he feels the slight burn and enjoys it. 

It’s as if he’s carefully becoming undone when Zayn runs his tongue along the seam of Niall’s lips, slowly and what could be seen as expertly — the way he does it sending waves of pleasure through Niall and bites back a moan. 

There’s a gentle hand at the base of his neck, keeping Niall’s head steady while the other occupies himself with sucking on Zayn’s lower lip. 

It’s here, with one of Zayn’s legs tucked between Niall’s, nearly panting while they’re pressed up against one another, does all the years of wanting and needing come over Niall so strongly he sucks in a breath. It’s been so _long_ and he’s only let himself imagine for brief periods of time what it would be like to touch Zayn, to have him press his thumb to the big of Niall’s skin under his shirt — just at his hip. To let himself wonder what kind of kisser Zayn would be — and, as it turns out, Niall had been right all along.

There’s no rush to it, like Zayn has somehow managed to stop time itself for the few moments he’s got to kiss Niall, making everything else a haze in his head, clouded with so many emotions Niall’s not sure he could pinpoint them all even if he wanted to. It’s slow and easy, the way Zayn presses up against him — lips soft and warm, tasting like salt from the popcorn, but a little sweet from the Starbursts. Just as Niall had thought they would.

Niall grips at the fabric of Zayn’s shirt with his free hand, the warm summer air making the heat between them even more, if that were at all possible, and Niall tries to breathe. 

He’s kissed people, sure, but none of them like this. There’s something in each movement Zayn’s makes; if its to rub circles into the skin of Niall’s hip, or when he shifts, just slightly, getting a better angle to kiss Niall, like it’s all thought out, but never forced.

Maybe he’s wanted this for a while. Maybe, he’s wanted this just for as long as Niall has. The thought makes Niall’s heart feel like its stuck somewhere in his throat.

They come up for air eventually, Niall’s lips red and swollen and he nearly laughs when he sees the way Zayn’s hair is tousled on top of his head.

For a brief second Niall wonders if Zayn’s going to take it all back. Blame it on the weird drive-in popcorn butter, or something, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he feels the pad of Zayn’s thumb press to the corner of his mouth, like a silent question.

Niall knows what he’s asking, doesn’t even have to think twice about it before nodding. “Yeah,” he tells Zayn, breathless and needy, “yeah let’s — go.”

Zayn doesn’t argue, just follows Niall and collects their things — throwing them into the back seat before they pull out of the movie.

“You gotta tell me what happens in the end,” Niall says when he pulls up to the stoplight. “The curiosity is going to kill me.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just leans over to press a kiss to the side of Niall’s neck — which gets him pressing on the gas probably a little more than necessary when the light turns green. It’s a small town, only one more stoplight and a handful more turns before pulling into the driveway.

His brother Greg is having some sort of tournament for his hockey league, his dad going with and his mom at some women’s retreat, Niall thinks with a slight bit of relief. He cuts the engine, taking the keys and making his way toward the front door — all the while with Zayn’s warm body pressing up against him, nosing along the back of Niall’s neck as he tries to unlock the door.

“Impatient, are we?” Niall asks. Zayn hums to agree as they step through the doorway. 

Zayn doesn’t respond, just presses Niall up against the wall beside the front door and kisses him. 

It’s more heated this time — a hot press of the lips and Zayn’s hands coming to tug on the hem of Niall’s shirt, posed like a question.

And that’s when it hits him; _really_ hits Niall, what Zayn wants. 

He’s never had sex before. There were a few times he’d come close but never actually went through with it, always holding onto some kind of strange hope that he would somehow end up in this exact moment, with Zayn, where he is right now.

“You okay?” Zayn asks softly, palming Niall’s cheek.

Niall nods, swallowing. He feels like he’s on fire, every part of him unable to contain the want he feels as him and Zayn start up the stairs — hands tangled together and Niall getting distracted very few steps with Zayn’s lips against his. 

He barely has a moment to turn on the light, both him and Zayn nearly tripping over one another as they make their way inside Niall’s room. 

There’s no other sounds except for their footsteps, Niall’s heart pounding in his chest. Zayn takes off his shirt, first. Next he sits on the edge of the mattress, hands trembling. Zayn leans forward, kissing him gently.

This is Niall’s first time with anyone, he thinks to himself for a brief moment. First time helping them take off their shirt, first time he’s ever let anyone suck along the skin of his collarbone, much like Zayn is doing now. His hands are warm and curious, pressing along Niall’s skin — testing out where to press, what gets Niall inhaling sharply.

And he trusts Zayn, is the thing. Trusts him more than anyone else, especially with the way he’s leaning Niall back against the bed — his legs around Niall’s waist before kissing the underside of his jaw.

Niall’s already hard in his jeans, each movement making him nearly pant, gripping the bedspread with one hand. “What do you want?” Zayn asks, tilting Niall’s chin up toward him again.

Zayn’s eyes are wide, his voice breaking only a little. Niall presses his lips together. “You,” he says, because it’s the only answer that comes to his head. “I just want you.”

The next few moments feel heavy, weighted; Niall’s words staying between them before Zayn nods. Niall’s head is spinning, cock aching and all Zayn can seem to do is tug on the waistband of his jeans.

“Please,” Niall says, rocking his hips up when Zayn’s hand brushes his dick through the fabric of his jeans.

The two of them shift, Niall working off his pants while Zayn does the same — both of them only wearing their boxers on Niall’s bed now. It’s a bit surreal, almost like Niall needs to pinch himself as a reminder that this is actually happening, right now. He doesn’t, if only because Zayn’s kissing up along his thighs and stomach, smiling against Niall’s skin and he clenches at the ticklish spots.

“Tease,” Niall says, but Zayn just laughs quietly — breath warm against Niall’s skin and lips trailing before he talks again.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Zayn says, mouthing at Niall’s dick through his boxers. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Niall breathes out, doing his best not to rock his hips up to Zayn’s hot mouth.

“You okay?” Zayn asks, weight firm where he’s leaning against Niall.

And Niall knows, knows that if he said he wasn’t — that he didn’t want to do this, Zayn wouldn’t ask again, and he’d be just as fine to sit and watch an episode of Breaking Bad, or something. But Niall doesn’t want them to stop, doesn’t think he can imagine any sort of way that this goes where he isn’t here, with Zayn, right now.

“I’m okay,” Niall reassures him, keeping his voice steady.

Zayn presses his lips to the corner of Niall’s mouth, keeping them there while palming Niall through his boxers — slowly helping to get them off. “Just gotta move, a little —” Zayn directs softly, mumbling into the skin of Niall’s neck before managing to get them off.

His come next, and now they’re both naked — warm skin pressing up against one another. He reaches out, grips Zayn’s elbow and tries to anchor himself in how soft his skin is, warm to the touch.

“I’m sorry —” Niall starts, not even sure what he’s saying, “I don’t know, I’ve never done this before, you know?”

He’s nervous, and rambling. Zayn’s got a gentle hand around his dick, stroking him slow and steadily enough that it’s making Niall’s head fucking _spin_ with pleasure. “It’s okay,” Zayn tells him, his forehead pressed against Niall’s temple.

“I know you’ve, done — things, with other people. And I’m not, like, experienced,” Niall continues, though he has no idea why he’s still _talking_. He sounds out of breath, Zayn’s lips against his cheek now, lingering and soft. “But you can, you know. You can have it all — with me. If you want.”

He’s scared. He’s here, on his bed with Zayn, the one person he’s wanted more than anyone else in his entire life — and he’s rambling with no way of stopping himself in the foreseeable future. Niall doesn’t want Zayn to regret this, is one reason. The other is that he doesn’t want it to be awful, maybe, not that he assumes it would be.

“I’m sorry, shit, I’m so sorry —” Niall adds, turning his face so he can kiss Zayn’s lips, briefly. “I’m rambling, I should stop —”

Zayn kisses him again, and Niall can feel his smile pressing against Niall’s lips. It’s enough to get Niall to stop talking, by some miracle, Zayn’s tongue running along his lower lip and Niall opens up for him almost immediately, no sort of hesitation anymore.

“Hey —” Zayn starts, kissing Niall’s chin for a moment, “I’ve got you, Ni,” he says after a tiny silence lapses between them.

Niall’s heart is still pounding in his chest but he finds himself nodding anyway, a little more comforted. Zayn looks at him. “Are you sure, I don’t want you to regret this, or anything —” Niall starts, but Zayn shakes his head, kissing him again.

“You’re fine,” Zayn murmurs, cradling one half of Niall’s face with the hand that isn’t presently wrapped around his dick. “I’ve got you.”

Whatever nerves have built up inside Niall slowly lessen as Zayn sucks on his lower lip, the pad of his thumb swiping carefully alone Niall’s jawline. “Alright,” Niall says, Zayn’s forehead against his own.

Something changes then, like they both know what they want, and are both sure of the other person. Zayn clears his throat after a moment. “Do you have — anything?” he asks finally, and Niall nearly bursts out laughing.

“Planning on asking this sometime?” Niall asks, smirking when Zayn rolls his eyes, leaning his head against Niall’s shoulder in mild embarrassment. “Jesus, Malik.”

Zayn’s still got a hand on his dick, keeping it interested where he’s pressing his thumb against the slit — Niall inhaling sharply before motioning to the small table beside his bed. “First drawer,” he directs.

Zayn nods, opening it and rummaging around. Soon enough Zayn finds what he’s looking for, pulling out a condom and bottle of lube. “What is this, travel size?” Zayn asks, opening the lid.

“Fuck off,” Niall says, watching Zayn pour some of the liquid onto his fingers.

“You sure you want that?” Zayn asks, eyebrow raised. 

Niall moans, shaking his head. He waits, unsure of what to do as Zayn concentrates for a few moments, tongue poking out from between his lips and Niall finds himself hopelessly endeared and turned on by it at once.

“You just gotta — put something under your knees,” Zayn tells him slowly, motioning to one of Niall’s pillows on his bed. 

Niall moves, taking one from the small pile behind him as he puts it under his knees, looking over at Zayn once more. “Like this?” he asks dumbly.

Zayn nods, kissing Niall’s forehead. “Do you want to go on your back or stomach?” he asks. “Stomach is probably best, if it’s your first time,” he adds after a moment, voice gentle. 

“Back,” Niall says after a moment of consideration. “I just — I want to see you,” he says, sheepish.

Zayn doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to make Niall change his mind before leaning forward again. “This is going to feel weird at first,” he says. “If you want me to stop just say so, okay?”

“Okay,” Niall says, unsure of what he’s waiting for until he feels one of Zayn’s fingers brush against his hole, tentatively.

It’s cold and foreign to Niall, the feeling of Zayn running along him, making sure Niall’s okay before he does anything else. He must notice Niall jump at first contact, teasing his hole before pressing in the first finger slowly. Niall inhales sharply, unsure of what he’s feeling — lets himself feel it before he makes any decisions on it.

His finger is cold from the lube, pressing inside him and it’s a mixture of being turned on, Zayn’s finger being up his ass, and nerves that go through Niall. Zayn pulls it out, then pushes it back in — Niall leaning his head back and he feels Zayn attach his lips to his neck, sucking on the skin.

It’s a little while before Zayn adds his second finger, and the burn from that is enough for Niall to fist his bedsheets again, teeth gritting together as he closes his eyes. “Okay?” Zayn asks, both fingers working inside him. Niall swallows, trying to find the words to reply with.

“Ye-ah,” Niall manages to get out, still trying to adjust to the feeling of two fingers inside of him.

For a moment Niall finds himself grinding down on them involuntarily, which makes him gasp even though it burns. It gets Niall’s cock interested again, twitching against his stomach and he has to remind himself to breathe. 

He’s not sure he can take a third finger, squeezing Zayn’s free hand where its intertwined with his own. Zayn’s fucking into him with a rhythm now, pulling in and out and Niall’s head isn’t having any real, coherent thoughts before choking out a moan.

There’s a pause, the sound of more lube being squeezed out before Zayn adds a third finger. “Fuck,” Niall lets out, broken. 

“You’re doing so good, babe,” Zayn tells him, lips pressed to Niall’s ear. “So good, fuck, you’re so warm, so _tight_ —” he adds, face now pressed against the side of Niall’s neck.

It’s equal amounts of burning as it is pleasure, Niall somehow manages to think, trying to remember how it feels to have three of Zayn’s fingers inside of him. Louis told him about it, told Niall what it feels like — but nothing prepared him for when he was actually going to have it happen to him, right now, with Zayn.

His dick is fattening up on his stomach when Zayn pulls out, leaving Niall whining as he grinds down on nothing. He opens his eyes to see Zayn on his knees, working to get the condom open and slicking himself up as he applies it carefully. And, for a few moments, Niall lets himself look at Zayn — really, honestly, look at him. Because he’s always been an attractive person, that much has always been obvious, but —

Here he looks different. Like Niall doesn’t want anyone else to know what he looks like in the dim light of his bedroom, bent over and brows furrowed and trying to make sure everything’s alright, that everything’s okay and he’s going to do this right, for Niall’s sake. He can see a crease in Zayn’s forehead, can tell that he’s been biting down on his lower lip with the indents of his teeth against his skin.

“Still with me?” Zayn’s voice comes again. Niall nods, slowly.

Feeling Zayn press up against him is different than his fingers, Niall registers before closing his eyes again. It’s a moment before Zayn finally pushes inside him, slow and careful and Niall lets another sound escape his lips — loud and shameless.

It’s too much, yet somehow not enough, with Zayn nosing along his hairline and pressing inside him that Niall isn’t sure he’s breathing anymore. He brings his hands to Zayn’s shoulders, gripping them where he knows he’ll leave half moons into his skin, but right now can’t bring himself to care.

“I’ve got you,” Zayn tells him, pulling out. Niall bites his shoulder to try and stifle his moan.

Much like before Zayn works himself up again, pressing in and out and Niall tilts his head back, tries to keep himself steady through it. He’s warm all over, like every nerve on his body is on edge — can feel each thrust Zayn pushes into him, their skin slapping together and Niall’s sure he’s going to see stars come any second, now.

His cock is now achingly hard against his stomach, so much so Niall comes a few moments later with a shout — all over himself. Zayn pushes in a couple more times until he’s coming as well, both of them breathing heavily while Zayn comes to lay beside him.

He’s got an arm and leg draped across Niall, condom taken off and tossed into the garbage bin beside Niall’s bed. “Fuck,” Niall says, pressing a kiss somewhere on Zayn’s head.

“Fuck good, or fuck bad?” Zayn asks, Niall laughing and shaking his head.

“Idiot,” Niall murmurs affectionately, playing with the hair at the nape of Zayn’s neck.

He’s exhausted, legs feeling like the won’t be able to move them for days as he doesn’t even bother moving anymore. Next to him Niall can feel the rise and fall of Zayn’s chest, constant and steady as he tugs Zayn closer, gentle hands at his waist.

“We should clean up,” Zayn mumbles, eyes closed.

“Tomorrow,” Niall reassures him, hand resting on the small of Zayn’s back. 

Right now, though, Niall’s in the tent — laying on his back and unable to sleep as he listens to the constant sound of Zayn’s breathing. He woke up somewhere close to two in the morning, much thanks to his now dead phone, and hasn’t been able to fall back asleep since. Not that he really minds all that much; everything’s quiet outside, everyone else having gone to bed a while ago.

He misses Zayn. The realization hit him a little while ago, real and tangible in his chest when he’d finally let himself think it. He misses Zayn so fucking much and he’s right here, beside him, and Niall isn’t sure what he can do about it.

He can only faintly make out the Zayn’s sleeping silhouette, still with the broad shoulders and narrow waist — a beanie on his head to keep warm. He’s facing Niall, still asleep, when Niall gets an idea.

It’s mostly because it’s so fucking cold out, Niall reasons. And it’s also because Bressie hasn’t texted him back, and mostly because he just really misses Zayn, if he’s honest.

Either way Niall carefully moves his mattress closer, lumpy and uncomfortable as it is, so its pressed up against Zayn’s. He moves so he can put a bit of his sleeping back over Zayn, pausing for only a moment to make sure he doesn’t wake him. And, when he’s still asleep, Niall shifts closer; lets himself have this, even if its just for a night.

The reaction is almost immediate. Zayn moves toward him, as if on instinct — like he can somehow feel the warmth from Niall’s sleeping bag before cuddling into Niall, like no time has passed between them. 

Despite his better judgement, Niall presses his forehead against Zayn’s, silently. He can hear Zayn’s shallow breaths, can see where he’s got an arm wrapped around his middle to try and keep some heat contained against his body.

Reminds him of one night, when Zayn had taken Niall out to look at the stars. Apparently it was some sort of constellation thing that only happened once a decade, but Niall wasn’t really keen on listening where he’d been sitting on the hood of his parents truck, a blanket wrapped around the two of them. All he remembers is Zayn’s hand in his own, nosing along Niall’s neck and telling him all the basic facts of the universe he knew, which. Niall wasn’t going to complain about.

He remembers how Zayn would always play with his hands — thumb along the back of Niall’s hand and always fidgeting with them in some way, shape or form. But always so careful, Niall can recall even now. How Zayn’s always been with him. Even in Niall’s room, where he didn’t know what he was doing, and he was in a constant state of nerves and uncertainty, Zayn was there. Always has been.

How he took Niall apart — had him shaking with want and coming undone right in front of Zayn on that warm, August night. But then, as if he knew what he was doing, putting Niall back together again. In the always careful, always certain way that Zayn is. Making sure Niall was okay, something he still does now — but Niall’s never really taken the time to notice.

So he leans forward, pressing his lips to Zayn’s adams apple — because it’s the closest thing to him and Niall needs to remember what his skin feels like, even if it's just for a moment. It feels like a promise, though of what Niall has no idea; all he knows is that it feels right, the two of them pressed against one another in the cramped space of the tent. It’s always felt right.

He slowly lets himself doze off, eyes closing and getting heavy where Niall’s now got Zayn’s arms wrapped around him, having no idea when that happened.

Zayn wakes up. The only way Niall can tell is how his arms tighten then loosen every once in a while, followed by the muted sound of his lips smacking together.

Zayn whispers, “Niall? You awake?” lips grazing along Niall’s forehead. But he doesn’t answer, is too tired to say anything and feels Zayn’s thumb swipe along the inside of his elbow. “Ni?”

Niall stays still, feeling the press of lips to his head before finally drifting off, content and happier than he’s felt in months.

— 

The next day, things are different. It’s not a major change; more so in the subtle ways Niall and Zayn go about their day. With touches none of the other boys notice, linger fingers on wrists and silent questions when Zayn’s thumb moves along Niall’s palm by the fire.

It’s distracting. But more than that, Niall isn’t sure what to do about it. He wants — wants so _bad_ he can feel it curling in his stomach, hot and real and so much more than he thought it would be. He thought he was over it. Over Zayn, over whatever ‘thing’ they had. But, as it turns out, there’s still lingering feelings that aren’t small or anything to be ignored. They’re real, and twisting in Niall’s gut everytime he lets his eyes linger on Zayn for longer than necessary.

Eventually, after they’ve all gone for a hike and Liam’s starting in on dinner, Niall offers to go for a beer run. He mostly wants to charge his phone, if hes honest, but doesn’t say this.

“I’ll come!” Louis calls, leaving Harry and Liam by the fire and approaches Niall.

“You don’t have to —” Niall starts but Louis shakes his head, cutting him off.

“Want to,” Louis says simply. “Gets me away from those two love-birds cooing over the stove,” he adds, jerking his head back to make a point.

Niall smirks, shrugging. “Alright, well. Don’t say I didn’t tell you it would be exciting,” he says, fishing for his car keys and gets into the front seat, Louis not far behind him.

“Never said I wanted exciting,” Louis says, doing up his seatbelt. 

It’s looked like it was going to rain all day, the clouds dark and lingering in the sky — making Niall a bit nervous. He’s not sure all the tents would hold up in the rain; especially Louis’. But he doesn’t comment on it, pulling out onto the gravel pathway toward the small town a little way’s away.

Louis is quiet most of the ride, but Niall knows he’s got something to say. He’s always like this when there’s something on his mind — pressing and serious, the way he’s looking out the window with his lips pressed into a thin line tips Niall off straight away.

He’s known Louis the longest, so Niall knows his ticks. Flipping through the radio, humming for a bit then switching to another song — though out here its mostly static coming through the speakers. Niall grips the steering wheel, just letting himself drive and waits for Louis to speak up.

The beer store is ten or fifteen minutes from the campsite, the roads hardly busy while Niall’s phone charges beside him on the console. It buzzes, once, Niall glancing down briefly before focusing back up onto the road. Louis doesn’t move, just looks at Niall’s phone for a moment before tilting his head back and continuing to look out the window.

It’s weird, when silences like this happen between them. Niall’s never really grown accustomed to them, but he knows better than to say anything. Which doesn’t explain why he feels guilty with Louis next to him, since he’s got nothing to feel guilty _about_. 

They pull into the beer store, practically all the parking spaces empty as him and Louis finally get out. Liam’s written a small list, their usual orders of beer on the piece of scrap paper. Niall puts them into a basket and makes his way toward the check out. Louis is taking his time, poking at some boxes and reading others — all the while trailing behind Niall slowly, hardly making a sound. 

They get run through easily, beer in the usual brown paper bags. Niall looks back at Louis, waits for him to approach. “Think I should drive,” Louis says, raising an eyebrow. Niall blinks, confused. 

“Um. Sure,” Niall says slowly, taking the key out of his pocket and putting it in Louis’ open hand. “Everything alright?”

Louis nods. “Just want to stretch my legs a bit is all,” he says, the two of them walking back out toward the car again.

The bags go into the trunk, more than enough to hold them over for their last two nights and Niall closes the back. Louis still doesn’t say anything, eerily silent while pulling out onto the road. Niall picks up his phone, debating turning on the screen; letting it rest on his lap.

“Something wrong with your phone?” Louis asks, breaking the silence. Niall can’t read his tone, isn’t sure he wants to.

“No?” Niall replies, trying to sound neutral. “Should there be?”

“Just wondering,” Louis says, turning onto the familiar road to their campsite.

Before they get there, however, he does something Niall isn’t expecting. He pulls up into a bar, the lights dim but sign still saying _Come in, We’re open!_ where Niall can read it from the door.

“What are you doing,” Niall asks flatly.

“We’re going to get a drink. I’m in desperate need of a beer,” Louis says, unbuckling himself. 

“We just bought beer,” Niall points out.

“C’mon, Horan, let’s go,” he adds, patting Niall’s arm before he goes.

They’re going to be late to dinner, Niall can already tell as they walk into the bar. There’s only a small handful of people in it, scattered throughout. Louis takes one of the seats on one of the stools, motioning Niall to join him.

He orders them each a beer, being placed in front of them in just a few minutes. Niall pauses, glancing over at Louis.

“Is everything — alright?” Niall finally asks.

Louis raises his eyebrows, lowering his bottle from his lips before looking pointedly at Niall, “You tell me.”

Niall groans, rubbing a hand along his face in annoyance. “I don’t have time for your riddles,” he nearly snaps.

Louis takes in a deep breath, not answering right away where he’s picking the label off his beer. 

“ _Hello, dear listeners, this is Nick Grimshaw once again. I’m covering for your dearly loved Harry Styles, who’s on his once a year camping trip, of all things, so I’m his substitute,_ ” Nick’s voice comes over the radio. Niall grips his beer bottle when he hears it. “ _Lucky for you all, however, he’s left me with some playlists to occupy you all with. And with one more song left of the night, here’s The National with their song I Need My Girl. I’ll see you all tomorrow!_ ”

Niall swallows, his whole body feeling tense and hooks his feet on the bottom of his stool. “You and Zayn are my two best friends, you know,” Louis says finally, voice quiet.

Niall looks up at this, eyes on Louis’ face as he nods. “I know,” he says.

“I don’t want you two to fuck this up,” Louis says after a moment.

“We’re not — going to,” Niall says, but it sounds more like a question.

“Is that why you’re refusing to check your phone?” Louis asks.

Niall sighs, shifting where he’s sitting before he says anything in response. “It’s complicated,” he settles on.

Louis isn’t smiling. In fact, he’s looking anything less than amused, Niall thinks after a moment. “Just because its complicated doesn’t mean you can go around making it _more_ complicated.”

“It’s not — we’re not doing that,” Niall huffs, defensive. 

Louis taps one of his fingers against the countertop to an impatient beat Niall doesn’t know, eyes focused on his drink. “Then what are you doing,” he asks.

And that’s the thing. That’s the thing that Niall’s been wrestling with, unable to answer to himself, and now he’s being faced with it as a real question. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking _know_. It’s like —” Niall inhales, trying to steady himself where he can feel his hands shaking. “He left, and I didn’t know what to do. So I started dating Bressie, thinking that all of this would just — go away.”

“And did it?” Louis asks him almost right away.

Niall feels like he’s somewhere between crying and being sick, not meeting Louis’ gaze. “No,” he says, swallowing thickly. “It didn’t.”

To his surprise, Louis doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have any sort of comment, or advice. Just sits. Niall isn’t sure if he’s thankful for the silence or not.

“I mean, if it makes you feel any better…” Louis starts, his beer mostly finished, nudging Niall’s calf with his foot gently, “you’re not the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.”

Niall forces out a small laugh, his chest feeling tight. “Not really that comforting, Lou,” he says.

“Kinda figured it wouldn’t be,” Louis says, clasping a hand on Niall’s shoulder.

His phone is like a small weight in his pocket, Bressie’s text still unread. Niall takes the last drink of his beer, putting the empty bottle onto the counter once more. “I’ll figure it out,” Niall says, sounding mostly decided. Louis gives him an unconvinced look.

“You sure?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Niall says, putting his coat back on. “Always am, aren’t I?”

He could tell Louis. Could tell him that he knows what he should do, but it isn’t what he’s going to do. That he probably, most likely, doesn’t love Bressie — and that he knows it isn’t going to go anywhere. 

Niall does up his zipper, him and Louis paying for their drinks and making their way out the doors again. 

It would be so easy to tell him, right now. Removed from work, and the campsite — no Zayn, no Bressie, just him and Louis, Niall thinks, Louis getting into the driver’s seat again. But what would they do from there? Talk about it? Louis telling Niall to dump Bressie and see how things go with Zayn?

Niall knows how it would go with Zayn. Has always know, it feels like. They’d be together a few weeks, maybe months — if he’s lucky — and then before anything concrete could be settled Zayn would go away, with nothing but a note on the toaster and a few of his things scattered throughout Niall’s house. 

Louis tries to find a station again, Niall taking out his phone as he unlocks the screen. It lights up, illuminating where the sky is nearly dark and filling up the car. 

“Who’s it from?” Louis asks, turning into the camp grounds.

_Hope the weekend’s been fun. Can’t wait to see you and hear all about it. Love you._

Niall locks his phone, not responding. He puts his phone away once more. “No one,” he tells Louis, one of his hands gripping his thigh and biting down on the inside of his cheek. “It’s um — it’s no one.”

And if Louis knows, he doesn’t press the question anymore. Just keeps driving, and for a few moments — Niall feels like he can breathe.

— 

Dinner’s good, the group of them sitting around the fire and chatting about things while Niall sits in mostly silence.

A little after dinner is when the rain starts falling, everyone moving quickly to pack up their things and put them away before it starts to pour. They get mostly everything done by the time Niall makes it into the tent, Zayn not too far behind them as they kick off their slightly wet shoes.

“Fuck,” Niall breathes out, crawling under his sleeping bag. 

“Was wondering when it was gonna come down,” Zayn adds, looking like he’s shivering himself when he comes to lay beside Niall.

He can hear Louis complaining loudly about his tent, most likely bunking off into Harry and Liam’s when his voice soon dies down, Niall assumes, closing his eyes after a few moments.

Zayn’s got a small light on beside him, reading a book. Niall opens his eyes once more. He’s wearing an overly large sweater, practically hanging off his thin frame. There’s glasses pushed up his nose, Niall has only seen those on a few occasions — has always liked the way they make his eyes seem a darker shade of brown in the dim lighting. 

He’s reading, though Niall can’t really make out the title where he’s sitting now. The rain’s still coming down, hitting the tent. He sighs, bored.

“You alright?” Zayn asks, looking up over the pages of his book.

Niall glances over at him. “Yeah just — you know. Feeling a little caged in,” he says.

His palms are starting to get sweaty, head spinning. Zayn makes a muted, concerned sound. 

“Do you wanna do something? Get your mind off it?” Zayn asks, putting a finger to hold his place while closing his book.

Niall takes in a deep breath, trying to keep himself even. He’s over thinking this. It’s crowds that make him like this, not small spaces. Well — that’s not true. Sometimes small spaces, he thinks to himself in a small fit of panic. 

“What are you reading?” Niall asks, sitting up slowly. He fists his hand then releases it; trying to find some sort of relief in the repeated action.

“Erm,” Zayn starts, putting a small piece of paper as his bookmark. “It’s just, you know. A little Tolstoy.”

Niall pauses, brows furrowed. “Who the fuck is that?” he asks, throat tight.

He can see a small smile tug on Zayn’s lips, and it’s familiar enough to keep Niall from freaking out. Just a upturn of his lips, something Niall knows. He watches Zayn lick his lips before he finally answers.

“He was a Russian author,” Zayn starts, thumbing the edge of his book while he talks. “You know, like. One of those philosopher types.”

Niall snorts, rolling his eyes. “How on earth —” he starts, head spinning and breathless, “did you start reading him?”

Zayn shifts closer, and while that should make Niall feel like he’s in a smaller space, it doesn’t. Just makes a warm feeling settle over his chest, soothing him a bit. “Harry said he was good. And there was this lying around my dad’s study, so. Thought I’d take it with for a bit of light reading,” he says with a slight shrug of his shoulders; a small lift.

“What’s it called?” Niall asks, feeling slightly desperate to keep Zayn talking.

“Anna Karenina,” Zayn answers almost right away. It’s a moment before Niall registers Zayn’s hand on his back and rubbing small, constant circles. Niall takes in a shallow breath. “I’m not like super far into it, to be honest. It’s a little hard to read,” Zayn admits. Niall focuses on how warm his hand his; steady and constant. “But I think it’s mostly about this rich girl who has an affair with this other guy.”

“Who isn’t her husband?” Niall asks.

He hears Zayn laugh somewhere above him, Niall’s head bent where he’s got his knees pressed to his chest. “Yeah, he’s definitely not her husband,” he says, voice hushed.

“What do you think’s gonna happen?” Niall asks. He can feel himself slowly coming down — head still slightly spinning and grips his legs tight. 

“Dunno, to be honest,” Zayn says slowly. “It’s not like — happy, I guess. She’s been shunned back home, so that’s not really all that fun.”

“Doesn’t really sound all that uplifting,” Niall deadpans. 

Zayn’s fingers press somewhere between his shoulderblades, knowing and careful. Niall exhales. He focuses on the rain, on Zayn’s steady breathing beside him before slowly lifting his head back up.

“Alright?” Zayn asks. In moments like this, with muffled sounds and the time getting later and later Niall can pick how his accent; thicker with each word Zayn says. 

Niall remembers when Zayn tried to hide it in high school, almost like he was ashamed of it — but Niall loved it. Couldn’t get enough of the words Zayn said, how his tongue poked at his teeth, his r’s longer and words made his own.

“Think so,” Niall says, voice no longer wavering as he talks, which is always a good sign. “Sorry,” he adds, mumbling the words and rubs at his temples.

“Don’t be,” Zayn tells him, and means it.

He doesn’t open his book again, instead just keeping it in his lap. Niall looks over at him once more. There’s still concern on his features, unsaid. Niall rubs his arms tiredly.

“Doesn’t usually get this bad,” Niall says, laughing awkwardly, quiet and forced.

“It’s alright,” Zayn tells him softly.

Niall chews his lower lip. They’re sitting close, mattresses still pushed together from the other night. Neither of them has made any effort to move them back to how they were. “Anything else you wanna say about that book? Maybe I’ll read it,” Niall says.

Zayn smiles now, teeth showing, and Niall swears he can feel his heart find its way to his throat when he sees it. “Don’t think you’ll like it,” Zayn tells him honestly.

There’s muffled sounds of Harry, sounding somewhere between scolding Louis and trying not to wake Liam from his tent. Niall bites back a laugh.

“Yeah, but. Might need to brush up on my Russian politics,” Niall says.

Zayn laughs, the sound muffled where he presses his face against Niall’s shoulder. He can smell the beer on Zayn’s breath, can almost taste it against his puffy lips.

And after about half a minute, neither of them move. That’s when Zayn puts a cautious hand around Niall’s waist. Niall feels himself heat up, hair on the back of his neck standing up and he starts to breathe heavily for an entirely different reason. 

“Zayn.” Niall says slowly, voice breaking just at the end of it and he hates himself for it, probably.

Zayn’s fingers curl around Niall’s waist, gentle and guiding before he pushes his forehead against Niall one last time and lifts it slowly, like a silent question. His glasses are off now, eyes wide and questioning. Niall’s sure his heart stopped somewhere a few minutes ago. He takes in a sharp breath.

God, he misses Zayn. It’s feels like the only thing Niall knows, the one thing that’s been constant and steady over the years. The thing that makes his inside feel tight and achy all at once, missing Zayn.

Zayn bumps their noses together, the touch light but sending a wave of emotions through Niall. He can’t hear the rain outside anymore, can’t hear anything except for the sound Zayn makes when he swallows — thumb brushing along Niall’s jawline in a touch that’s so familiar it feels something like coming home.

It’s warm, though that could be just because Zayn’s so close and Niall’s heart is racing so fast in his chest. He wants to ask, wants to know why the fuck he left — why he came back, what he’s doing here, now. But Niall doesn’t. Instead finds himself closing his eyes and breathing Zayn in, swiping his thumb along Zayn’s wrist bone in one, slow movement.

Zayn’s lips are warm — soft and everything Niall remembers them to be. He brings one hand behind Zayn’s neck and cradles it gently, almost like an instinct. 

Its just a slow brush of their lips, nothing really concrete as one of Niall’s hands curls around Zayn’s waist, like a security, making sure that he’s still here. His lips are chapped, but still warm and Niall knows them, feels like he’s known them for a lifetime. He makes it seem so easy, Niall thinks somewhere in his hazy head — that even when he tried to keep Zayn out, it’s like any and all barriers he put up are gone in the blink of an eye, crumbled and all Niall’s resolve gone where he’s practically on Zayn’s lap.

“Niall —” Zayn starts, pulling away, but Niall just shakes his head.

“No,” Niall says, his voice shallow as he talks, tugging on the collar of Zayn’s sweater. “Don’t. _Please_.”

Zayn complies, not putting up any more of a fight. Niall kisses him again, no longer a simple brush of their lips. It’s slow — like they’re trying to relearn one another in the small, cramped space of the tent; Niall fists his hand in Zayn’s sweater almost desperately.

He can taste the beer on Zayn’s tongue, can smell the smoke on him and it’s enough to make him nearly whine against Zayn’s mouth. But he doesn’t, instead lets Zayn run his tongue along his lower lip — gentle and only a little insistent. Niall gives into him easily, parts his lips and sighs against his mouth.

Maybe in another lifetime, another universe where neither of them fucks up everything in their wake, they could have this all the time. The thought is enough to make Niall nearly wince, Zayn not noticing where he presses a gentle hand into the small of Niall’s back — firm and steady and so _warm_. Always so warm, with Zayn.

Zayn’s sweater is soft under the pads of Niall’s fingers. Most likely one of Louis’, one that’s forgotten Zayn’s even had over the years — something not missed and so seamlessly brought in Zayn’s life. Not like people, because he always makes sure the ones that matter stay. One time Liam joked that they should all be grateful Zayn didn’t stay somewhere he travelled to, and Niall couldn’t bring himself to laugh in the kitchen of the inn. Couldn’t let himself think of this town without Zayn. Even though he hates it — hates this small place for what it is, he always comes back. And Niall’s never understood why.

His head feels heavy; like all his thoughts start but don’t finish, and all he can focus on is the way Zayn’s running his thumb along Niall’s back — like a reminder. Though what he’s reminding Niall of, he has no idea.

“We should —” Zayn says, breathless, pressing his forehead against Niall’s. “Stop. We should stop.”

Niall licks his lips, feels where Zayn’s upper lip had run against his skin, making it tender to the touch. He takes in a deep breath. And that’s when it hits him, coming more of a shock that Zayn remembered before he did.

 _Bressie_. It’s unspoken, but its there, settling between them. Louder than any words either of them could say, right now.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting himself keep his hands on Zayn’s sweater, lips nearly touching in the early hour. “Sleep,” Niall says finally, even though he doesn’t want too. Wants to see how long they can stay in this moment, see how long they could stay this close. “It’s late, and Harry’s going to want to be up early.”

Zayn swallows, and Niall can feel the way his fingertips tremble where he brushes them along the inside of Niall’s elbow. “Yeah,” Zayn agrees, and Niall wishes he wouldn’t. 

They move slowly, close enough that when Niall lays back his head is on Zayn’s chest — feeling the rise and fall as he tries to find some sort of comfort in that, some way to calm the way his heart still feels like its running a fucking marathon in his chest.

He registers Zayn’s lips against his forehead, then lets himself drift off. 

— 

It’s a testament to Liam’s level of patience he’s got when he’s able to get the five of them packed up and ready to go, especially with Louis pestering him every five minutes for something else — Harry wandering off, and Niall and Zayn trying to navigate around one another.

“I’m burning that tent,” Louis mumbles as he gets into the drivers seat, Liam beside him in the front. “I don’t care what any of you say, we are buying a new tent for this. I’m covered at _least_ a million bug bites.”

Harry snorts, not even trying to mask it. Niall presses his lips together to hold back a grin as Zayn comes to sit beside him. 

And, maybe for a few hours, Niall can pretend what it would be like to have Zayn. He doesn’t, because he knows it would be too hard to get out of his car at the end — but for a few, fleeting moments, its a nice image to have. With Louis singing loudly to the radio, Liam hitting his arm and Harry shaking his head beside Niall — he finds Zayn’s fingers brushing the back of his hand in the quiet moments, when no one else can notice where they’re tucked away into the back seat.

He falls asleep eventually, head pounding with a headache. Harry’s talking about something with the radio, telling Liam to go to a certain station.

“ _Sadly, this is my last day in Harry’s spot. I know, I know, you’re all going to miss me terribly. But, that gives you all a reason to wake up at five in the morning to hear my voice, doesn’t it?_ ” Nick’s voice comes through the speakers. Niall's only half awake while listening. “ _So, to go along with wherever you are on this cloudy afternoon — here’s singer Joseph Arthur with the song Honey and the Moon. Enjoy._ ”

Louis starts in on another rant, but Niall doesn’t bother to listen where he’s got his head pressed into Zayn’s shoulder — familiar and warm, one of his hands coming to curl around Zayn’s side under his jacket. 

He’s not sure what it means. Doesn’t have a clue what any of it means, actually, but that’s not what Niall’s concerned about right now. 

Mostly he’s concerned about what will be waiting for him at home. 

— 

His phone’s still dead by the time he gets through the front door, Louis honking the horn obnoxiously before he drives off — him and Harry waving from the front seats. Niall all but falls through the front door of his house from near exhaustion. 

Niall’s bags are the first to hit the ground, not bothering to pick them up. He leans his forehead against the door, staying there for a little while. 

“Alright, well —” Zayn had started, getting out of the car and looking at Niall all the while he’d said it, “I’ll see you guys later, then.” 

“Yeah text me back once in a while, dick,” Louis said while blowing him a kiss, the door closing and Niall had gotten this weird, empty feeling in his gut as he’d watched Zayn go up to his door. 

“Niall? That you?” 

Bressie’s voice comes, breaking Niall from his thoughts, hearing Bressie coming down the stairs. “Thought you weren’t going to be home till this evening?” he asks, giving Niall a small smile. 

“We were all pretty exhausted,” Niall says, holding up his arms awkwardly. “Surprise?” 

The reaction is almost immediate, walking toward Niall and tugging him close. It’s enough to make a bad taste settle in Niall’s mouth — wrapping both his arms around Bressie’s waist and staying there a few moments. He always forgets, no matter how long its been, _always_ forgets how big he is. 

“Did you have fun though?” he asks, stepping back and picking up one of Niall’s bags up off the floor. 

“Yeah, it was good,” Niall says. “Sorry I didn’t text you back — my phone died and there isn’t really any place to, you know. Charge it.” 

Bressie shrugs, not seeming all that upset about it. He leans over to kiss Niall’s forehead briefly. “I figured,” he says, because of course he figured, Niall thinks with a heavy amount of remorse. “Was thinking we’d get a pizza or something?” 

“Sounds good,” Niall says, yawning into the back of his hand and follows Bressie up the stairs. 

He doesn’t put any of his stuff away, too set on the idea of sitting on the couch with a beer. Him and Bressie go to do just that. It’s raining again, everything getting wet — the sound of it loud and echoing in the living room where Niall lays with his legs across Bressie’s lap comfortably. 

The pizza’s on its way, beer in Niall’s hand as he takes a sip. 

It’s a few minutes until he feels a gentle hand on his ankle, Bressie’s thumb moving along his skin. “Is everything — okay?” 

Niall turns his head slightly, now able to see Bressie where he leans back against the cushion, blinking slowly. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, brows furrowed. 

He wonders, then, if Bressie can hear the way his heart speeds up in his chest — if he can see the way Niall’s hand starts shaking, hardly noticeable. But still there. 

“Don’t know,” Bressie says slowly, sounding undecided. “You just seem off, is all.” 

Niall swallows, the game playing in the background on the television. “I’m fine,” Niall reassures him, squeezing Bressie’s wrist. “Just tired, you know. Sleeping in a tent isn’t super — comfortable.” 

Bressie smirks, nodding, taking another drink of his beer. And, for a few moments, it feels like Niall can breathe again where he’s sitting. Almost like they can go back to normal now; or, whatever that was for them, maybe. 

They watch the end of the game, Niall feeling loose and ready to sleep most of tomorrow. Him and Bressie make their way up the stairs. Niall shivers slightly, stepping into their room and taking off his shirt — making his way under the covers. 

Bressie comes a few minutes later, following into Niall’s bed wordlessly. They stay there for a few moments. 

“Missed you, you know,” Bressie says, nosing along Niall’s neck. 

Niall smiles, brushing his lips along Bressie’s briefly. “Missed you too, idiot,” he says after a few moments. 

He closes his eyes, thankful that he’s not on some lumpy mattress when Bressie speaks up again. 

“I guess I had nothing to worry about after all,” he says, just above a whisper. 

Niall hesitates, unsure if he heard him properly. “I—” he pauses, swallowing thickly. “What?” 

“About you and Zayn,” Bressie says, laughing quietly. 

And that’s when something settles in Niall; heavy and weighted and enough to make him feel like he’s going to be sick. He takes in a shaky breath. 

He should say it. Just open his mouth, and tell Bressie what happened. But Niall can’t bring himself to do it — doesn’t want to break whatever moment they’re having. So instead Niall closes his eyes again, tight, reminding himself to breathe, nodding. 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess not.” 

_—_

Over the next few days, it’s like Niall can almost forget it ever happened. Things are busy at the inn — the weather warm enough that he can rent out the boats and take the guests on tours easily, which means spending more time outside. 

His shipment from Malik Boats comes in as scheduled, needing to rearrange the shed out by the docks in order to get them all to fit — but they all do, eventually, by some small miracle. 

Liam’s new menu is a hit, as they all predicted — none of them prouder than Harry, but that’s not really a surprise, either. 

From: _louis.tomlinson@gmail.com_

Subject: _summmmmmmmmmmer! ish. almost summer._

_hello, all._

_if you’re receiving this email its because we are all having our annual ‘drink your face off’ night at the coach and lantern, downtown, and you’re invited. (except you, nick. harry begged me to invite you so. this is a pity invite.)_

_so, come. we would love to see you. well, most of you, anyway._

_cheers,  
louis._

Niall reads over the email at his desk, smirking, nearly finished for the day. Louis had sent it to the five of them, along with Nick, Bressie, and Greg and some other names Niall doesn’t have the patience to scroll through. He stands, taking his bag from his chair. 

Greg’s at the front desk, talking on the phone. Niall looks for a few folders under the front desk, tucking it under his arm and pokes his head into Louis’ office. 

“You didn’t reply to my email,” is the first thing Louis says. 

“Sort of assumed you knew I was coming,” Niall responds. Louis scoffs. “You staying here for a bit?” 

Louis nods, looking tired where he’s sitting behind his desk. “For a bit, yeah. Just going to finish this order and then I’ll go home. Promise.” 

Niall rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorway. “Alright, well. I got some stuff to do with Bressie at home, so I think I’m heading out.” 

He gets silence in response, watching as Louis nods slowly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Louis finally asks. 

“Hopefully,” Niall says, giving Louis a final wink before going. 

He’ll deal with Louis later, Niall tells himself, getting into his car and driving off toward home. 

_—_

There’s only a pile of laundry waiting for him when Niall gets there, picking up the basket and making his way downstairs. It’s unfinished, has been since he bought it all those years ago — but Niall’s never really had any real conviction to set aside time and energy to getting it done. So it now mostly is here, cold and damp — wood exposed along the ceiling, the floor concrete against his feet. 

He doesn’t mind it this way, if he's honest. Bressie has always wanted to change it, keeps talking about all the things Niall could do with the space, if he just sat down one day and planned it out. And while he’s probably right; Niall can’t really bring himself to care about it all that much. 

The washing machine is the loudest, rattling with the sound of water pouring into it filling the entire space of the room — keeping his thoughts at bay while waiting for the load to go through. There’s a pile of sweaters and a bunch of dress shirts that need cleaning, apparently, Niall thinks with a slight shake of his head. 

He gets a pizza delivered, because fuck it, most of his night is going to spent down here anyway. There’s a beer left open on the dryer, a text from Bressie saying he’ll be home soon while Niall’s putting a load through. 

He can’t shake whatever nagging feeling is staying with him, heavy and causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end and listens to the dryer going on another one of its spin cycles. 

By the time Bressie gets in the door Niall’s on his phone, bored, perched on top of the dryer where he should be folding sweaters. He hears the familiar footsteps coming down the stairs. Niall pauses, locking his screen and swallows, the nerves gripping at him. 

“Hi,” Bressie says, leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Started without me?” 

Niall laughs, forced and short, tucking his hands under his armpits. A short silence passes before Bressie takes a slice of pizza, kicking at the basket of sweaters with a pointed look on his face. “Saving them for you,” Niall explains, shrugging. Bressie rolls his eyes, pinching Niall’s thigh briefly before he finishes up his pizza. 

“How thoughtful of you,” Bressie deadpans, but there’s some fondness to it. 

The sweaters get left on the small table between the washer and the dryer, Niall eventually leaning over and picking up a few to do. He crosses his ankles over one another. Bressie asks him about his day, and Niall tells him — listening to his own stories from the station, nothing really out of the ordinary. 

And its here, in this moment — the one where Bressie is still unaware and Niall can’t seem to stop himself, does he tell him. It comes out of his mouth before Niall can stop it, the confession real and terrifying and not what Niall had wanted to say at all. 

But it’s out in the open, now. Starting when Niall says, “I kissed Zayn.” 

He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t silence. It was mostly a vision of yelling, of anger and frustration and everything that’s been circulating through Niall — of everything he knows he _deserves_ , waiting for Bressie to say something. 

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, Bressie just stands there — a blank and unreadable expression on his face. Niall waits. 

“Oh.” Is the first thing he says, and Niall’s sure he’s going to be sick all over his dryer. 

Niall’s got one of Harry’s old sweaters in his hands — from when he took an extended trip to Los Angeles, the words faded across the chest. He blinks, slowly. 

“Why.” Is the second thing Bressie says, voice calm and it’s enough to make Niall want to scream. 

Be mad at me, Niall thinks. Be mad at me, hate me, be _something_ at me; just don’t be this. 

“I’m sorry —” Niall starts, the words rushed, like its some sort of marathon to get them all out. “I don’t know — we were, we were sharing a tent. And it was raining, and I was feeling so caged in and he was there and I just — I don’t know. I don’t fucking _know_.” 

Bressie’s still. He doesn’t move, watching Niall with an even expression on his face. “I can leave. I can — get my things, and go. I’ll stay at Louis’, he has that extra room —” Niall says, about to push himself off the dryer to go and do just that. Bressie shakes his head, cutting him off. 

“Don’t do that,” Bressie says finally, quietly, nearly drowned out by the sounds around them. 

Niall licks his lips, not saying a word. It’s about a minute until Bressie speaks up again, neither of them moving. He braces himself, unsure of what’s coming — 

“I love you.” Niall takes in a slow breath, swallowing, and listens. Bressie continues, “and I just — you should stay.” 

“Stay?” Niall echos, voice breaking. 

Bressie nods. “We can work this out,” he says, and there’s not a part of his tone that Niall doubts. 

Niall’s relieved, is the first thing he thinks he feels, mostly because Bressie doesn’t hate him. But he should, Niall reminds himself — he has every right in the world to hate him, want nothing to do with him. But he’s still here. It’s something Niall can’t wrap his head around, isn’t sure he can ever grasp the idea that Bressie isn’t leaving. He’s planted, firm, and for some reason he thinks it might be worth it, staying here. 

And there’s Niall, one arm wrapped around his waist and all he can seem to think about is how utterly shitty he feels. He wanted Bressie to be pissed. To throw up his arms and tell Niall to leave, to get the fuck out and never speak to him again. For some fucked up reason that seems to be the best option, maybe. The one that makes the most sense; the one that would make it easier for Niall to sleep at night, without this overwhelming, sometimes crippling sensation of guilt. 

Because maybe, it’s not just about the kiss. 

That’s far as he lets that train of thought get, however. Doesn’t let himself think about it anymore, because that would be too much. 

“Are you — sure?” Niall asks. It’s Bressie’s way out, his last chance to end this and do what Niall knows he should be doing since he told him. 

As always, Bressie just nods. “I’m sure,” he says, mind apparently made up where he presses his lips to Niall’s forehead. 

It’s not — gone, after that. They finish folding the sweaters, the next load done in the dryer that Niall takes them out to fold next. But Bressie doesn’t ask anything else; doesn’t ask about the kiss, or camping. Doesn’t even ask why Niall told him. Just takes the basket of clean clothes, and goes upstairs without another word on the subject. 

Which, should be comforting. Because it means he’s serious, about this. About them. 

And Niall isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or worse about the whole thing. 

He brings it up again, just before they go to sleep, when the lamp is off and Bressie’s beside him on the bed. Niall opens his mouth, watching the outline of Bressie rise and fall with each breath when he says, “just. Tell me go, and I will. Alright?” 

There’s a bit of movement, the mattress dipping when Bressie shifts, facing Niall. He looks soft — always looks soft, Niall thinks to himself, and takes in a deep breath. 

“It’s okay.” Bressie tells him, pressing a short, lingering kiss to Niall’s lips before muttering a last goodnight. 

Niall doesn’t deserve that. He knows what he deserves, and it’s not that. So he should feel guilty. But he should feel even worse, maybe, because Bressie shouldn’t be doing this. Niall doesn’t even know _why_ he’s doing it. 

But it’s not okay, is the thing. And while Bressie’s fast asleep beside him Niall can’t fucking sleep, head feeling too full and too frustrated to close his eyes and even try to let himself get a few hours. 

_Because, as it turns out, he can’t stop fucking thinking about _Zayn_. Which, he shouldn’t even be thinking about Zayn. That should be the farthest thing from his thoughts. Because Bressie stayed; he didn’t get angry, and he told Niall he wanted them to work through. Which leaves Niall to what, think about Zayn?_

Niall doesn’t sleep well. Shifting awkwardly, trying to get comfortable, fading in and out of dozing before finally deciding enough is enough. He checks his bedside clock, registering the time as a little past four in the morning where he reaches for his phone, making his way downstairs. 

Could make tea. Have some of that awful, Sleepy-Time stuff Liam gave him a couple weeks back. 

But he doesn’t take the box out of the cupboard. Instead, Niall unlocks his phone, considering. And, without a second thought, he hits the call button on his phone — and fucking hates himself for it. 

It rings once, twice, three times — and Niall knows it’s four in the fucking morning, but he doesn’t hang up. Just waits. 

“Hello?” Zayn answers. His voice is slow, drawn out; raspy and just how Niall remembers it between any hour before noon. He grips the edge of the counter, closing his eyes. “Niall? Is that you?” 

He doesn’t say anything; isn’t sure what there is too say, really, when he’s calling at this time. “Niall —” Zayn pauses, and Niall bites his lower lip to keep himself from breaking. “Is everything alright?” 

He hangs up, putting the phone face down onto the counter and curses silently under his breath. The sun’s just starting to rise — bright and noticeable along the horizon, light peeking up through the top of the mountains. Niall rubs a hand along his face. 

He’s in love with Zayn, maybe. He doesn’t want to be in love with Zayn. 

For some reason he thinks maybe a beer will help, taking one out of the fridge and twisting the cap off; hearing it hit the countertop and lets it drop. He only takes one sip before realizing it was a bad idea, wincing and tasting nothing but regret and leaves it there, untouched. 

This house feels too small; like the walls are pressing in and all Niall can think about is how Bressie had sounded, downstairs in front of the dryer. Like he was so sure about this, about _them_. Sounding more sure about this than anything Niall’s ever been assured of anything in his entire life. 

He doesn’t want to go upstairs and back into bed. Can’t bring himself to go up and sleep beside Bressie, childish as that sounds, even in his head. But he doesn’t want to sleep on the couch, either — can’t think about that, and sits at the kitchen table. 

He knows where he’d rather be sleeping, but doesn’t think about it. Because it’s not even a specific place, not that tiny tent — and not in his own bed. It’s not anywhere, really. 

It’s the person, Niall knows that. Doesn’t matter where it is, just so long as they’re there, beside him. 

“Fuck,” Niall whispers to himself, voice hoarse and feeling fucking exhausted, lowering his head against the top of the table, shivering slightly, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

— 

He lets himself off work early the next day, having hardly any sleep and feeling miserable. Louis doesn’t argue with him, assuring Niall he’ll lock up before he leaves. Niall nodded gratefully, ruffling a bit of Louis’ hair before leaving his office — Liam busy in the kitchen when he’d made his exit out the back door. 

The sun’s out, warm on Niall’s back as he starts driving. He doesn’t want to go home; can’t bring himself to walk through that front door quiet yet and turns onto a street, instead going downtown. 

“ _This is the last song of my shift, folks. Next time you hear from me I’ll most likely be very hungover, so. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,_ ” Harry’s voice comes over the radio. “ _But for now, here’s something to get your weekend started. This is Blood, by The Middle East. Enjoy!_ ” 

He pulls up into a parking space, cutting the ignition and stepping out toward the building. It’s colder downtown, right near the water as Niall pulls his jacket closer. 

The radio studio is empty, nearly, a few people in the booth. Niall knocks on the door. He can see Harry past the glass, headphones resting on his shoulders and long hair pushed to one side before Niall steps inside. 

“Hey, Styles,” Julian says, talking into a small microphone. “You’ve got a visitor.” 

Nick, who’s across from Harry at the table mutters, “didn’t know you had any friends —” 

Harry glances over and sees Niall. 

“Horan,” he greets, grinning, while not so subtly flipping Nick off. “What do I owe the pleasure?” 

Niall shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Was bored. Thought you could use the company,” he says simply, and Harry laughs. 

It’s a bit before Harry’s ready to go, needing to do a few more things until everything’s all packed and he’s clasping Niall’s shoulder, lightly. 

The studio isn’t far from a small sandwich shop, him and Harry placing an order before they start off down the street. It rained earlier this afternoon, the ground still wet — but the sun warm. Niall walks beside Harry, not saying anything. 

“So,” Harry starts, the two of them leaning against the wooden railing along the docks. “You might’ve been right.” 

Niall raises his eyebrows, curious. “Gonna tell me what about?” he asks, taking a bite of his food. 

Harry snorts, rolling his eyes. He’s looking straight ahead, leaning down to pick up a rock on the ground before tossing it into the water. It makes a small sound before it starts to sink, no longer visible. 

“About…” Harry trails off, and Niall waits. “Liam. You were right, about Liam.” 

Niall nods, nudging Harry’s hip with his own. “I was?” he asks, grinning. 

“Oh, don’t be a raging dick about it,” Harry says, shoving Niall’s face away with his abnormally large hand. “I just, I wanted to make sure I was — you know.” 

Niall blinks, “No, I don’t know." 

“I just wanted make sure this — or, us, I guess, is what I wanted. Or if it was good for us, I guess,” Harry says, squinting in the sunlight as he talks. 

“And? Is it?” Niall asks the obvious question. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, smiling. Niall doesn’t tease him for the way his cheeks have gone a little pink; can blame that on the sun, maybe. “I’m pretty sure.” 

Must be nice, Niall thinks to himself. Being sure. But he doesn’t say this, instead wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck and tugs him closer. 

“Look at you, all grown up,” Niall teases, Harry making sounds of protest and tries to push Niall away with feeble hands. 

“Shut up,” Harry groans, rolling his eyes. “We haven’t even like, talked about it, or anything. So don’t go opening your big mouth, you hear me?” 

Niall makes an offended face. “Who’s the one who kept your dirty crush on Ms. Flack a secret then?” he asks, dramatic hand on his chest. 

“Alright, fine. You win,” Harry says, sounding only a little bitter, flicking Niall’s ear. 

— 

“Where’s your crime fighting boyfriend?” is the first thing Louis asks when he gets into Niall’s car on their way to the bar. 

Niall squints at him, putting the car into reverse and rolls out of the driveway. “Gonna meet us there. Just finishing something at work,” Niall says. Louis makes a sound beside him. 

“And he. You know.” Louis stops himself mid question. 

Niall looks at Louis, pulling up to a red light. “No, I don’t know. My mind reading skills only go so far, unfortunately,” he deadpans. 

Louis sighs, loudly. “He knows that Zayn’s coming?” 

A small silence lapses between them, Niall gripping the wheel and clears his throat. Louis doesn’t say anything, picking at his nails. “He, well. I assume he knows that Zayn’s coming.” 

He can practically hear Louis rolling his eyes beside him, and it’s here Niall realizes the thought should’ve crossed his mind at least, to tell Bressie. Just casually let it drop in any one of their conversations that, oh yeah, Zayn’s coming to this bar night we’re having, just a heads up. 

“Shouldn’t be a big deal, though,” Louis says. 

Niall nods, swallowing. “No, shouldn’t be,” he says slowly. 

He hasn’t told Louis about the kiss. Hasn’t told anyone besides Bressie; figured it would be better that way, if no one else knew. And for about half a minute Niall debates telling Louis, ultimately deciding against it where they pull into the parking lot. 

Only Nick and Greg are there when him and Louis step inside, talking with one another at the bar. Louis clasps his shoulder. “Harry and Liam coming?” he asks. 

“Said they were leaving in a bit,” Niall says, pocketing his phone. 

“Picking up Zayn on the way, probably,” Louis adds, going to stand beside Greg. 

He orders him and Niall a beer, helpfully, the two of them moving to sit on stools and saying their hello’s. 

“Thanks for the pity invite, by the way,” Nick says, tipping his glass toward Louis. 

Louis smiles, flipping Nick off silently and accepts his beer. “If only because I wanted our dearest Harold to quit his complaining,” he says, shrugging. 

Niall snorts, taking a sip before he hears Nick grunt from a few feet away, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject. 

They talk for a bit — though mostly it’s Louis pointedly ignoring Nick and ordering himself more drinks, before Niall’s phone buzzes in his pocket. 

It’s Liam, informing Niall that they’ve found a parking space and are coming in soon. And it’s like, for a moment, he needs to brace himself. Though for what he has no idea — just feels himself tense, shoulders squared and bites his lower lip. 

“About fucking time —” Louis starts when the three of them walk in, Zayn somewhere in the back. Harry grins. 

“We got a bit — lost,” Harry says, scratching the back of his neck, going to stand beside Louis. 

“He wanted to stop and get food,” Liam says, slinging an arm around Niall’s shoulders, pulling him close. 

Niall laughs, muffled by the fabric of Liam’s shirt. “Figured,” Niall tells him, eyes looking over at Zayn for just a moment before focusing back on his beer — Liam’s arm still around him. 

“Say, Niall,” Nick starts, leaning over onto the bar to get a good look at him. “Isn’t your boyfriend coming? The one who looks big enough to crush cities and take them captive? Because I wanted him to come so I can, like. Figure out his drinking tolerance." 

It goes quiet, the silence drawn out and awkward. Liam coughs into his fist. “Um —” Niall starts, not really answering; even Harry looks helpless to intervene. Niall bites his lip so hard it might bleed. 

Nick pauses, not missing on the tension created between the group of them. “Right, well. Everything just got very — weird.” 

“Very observant, Grimshaw, honestly. You should be proud of yourself —” Louis starts, Nick muttering a sharp, “fuck off,” before Niall speaks. 

None of them argue Nick, though. “He’s um, tied up at work. But he’s, you know. Very tolerant,” Niall says, forcing himself to smile. “Could drink me under the table.” 

Nick makes a low, impressed sound, nodding. “Noted,” he says, tipping his head back and taking a sip. 

The conversation shifts after that, to Niall’s relief. Liam’s grip tightens around him for a moment before it releases, moving so him and Zayn can get themselves drinks. Louis starts talking, voice loud above whatever music is playing while picking at his sleeve, pulling on a loose thread. Niall wants to look up — glance over at Zayn and see what sort of expression he has on his face where he’s sitting a little way’s away. But he doesn’t, instead focuses on his drink, only half-listening to whatever Louis is ranting about. 

Eventually they move to a booth, crowding in and around one another. Greg’s telling the story of something that happened at the inn last week, most of them laughing. It’s a nice place — just out on the docks, a few boats tied down. Niall pinches his upper lip and sucks in a deep breath. 

Weekends are nice, in this small town. They’re laid back — people moving at a slower pace than usual, especially on nights like this. When its just starting to get warm, the air sticky with it. Makes the smell of the water more prominent, Niall always thinks. Maybe that’s what’s always kept him here. Knowing that summer will eventually come around, and he’ll be here to see nights like this — even from where he’s sitting, tucked into a small booth. Makes nights like this worth it, he thinks. 

It’s what his dad likes the most. Was the one who got Niall into boating; would always take him out on hot, summer nights when Niall was restless in their little house he’d grown up in. Somehow his dad would know when Niall could barely keep still, taking them out to the docks. 

“Do you think you’ll stay here forever, dad?” Niall asked him one night. The water was calm and there was hardly any breeze to disturb them. 

His father nodded, looking more sure than Niall’s ever seen one person look. “You can’t ever bring yourself to leave a place like this. Don’t want to forget a moment of living here.” 

Now Niall understands what his father had meant. 

“Bressie!” someone calls out, taking Niall from his thoughts, nearly knocking his beer over. He gets a good look at Zayn, then, just in time to see his expression fall where he’s talking to Harry — not meeting Niall’s gaze when he sees Bressie, finally. 

“You weren’t fucking kidding,” Nick says from a few people away. “He’s a fucking giant. How big do you reckon he is, you know, below the belt —” 

“Hi,” Niall says, cutting off whatever perverse thought Nick was inevitably going to spew from his mouth and stands awkwardly, making his way toward Bressie. 

“Sorry I’m late,” is the first thing Bressie says, apologetically palming at Niall’s cheek. Niall stiffens under his touch, isn’t sure if Bressie can feel it or not and shrugs. “Simon had me stay late for some things.” 

“It’s fine,” Niall tells him, smiling a little. “Let’s go get you a drink, yeah?” 

Bressie follows easily, one of his arms around Niall’s waist as they head back toward the bar. It’s weird, then, Niall decides. Like he can almost feel the gaping amounts of distance between him and Bressie, and Bressie has no idea. 

Niall gets himself another drink, because why the fuck not, the way he sees it. The alcohol is already starting to take effect — making his thoughts slow and his body feeling warm all over. Which is nice, for the most part. Welcomed, even. 

He doesn’t think about the way Bressie’s hand grips Niall’s waist a little tighter, when he finally spots Zayn. Surprisingly, he doesn’t comment on it. Just tips back a bit more his whiskey sour — Nick and Greg asking Bressie about his job. Niall stays pressed to his side, not really saying anything. 

The night carries on and as usual, Harry’s suggestion for karaoke gets shot down a handful of times, as predicted. Niall fights down a laugh every time it does. 

He’s on the verge of being very drunk. That very small line, toeing along the edge of it. Niall laughs at a bad joke Louis makes — burying his face in Bressie’s neck, smelling his familiar cologne. 

Harry and Liam have been rather cozy most of the night, Harry curled up into Liam’s side — talking to him in a low, hushed voice. And, if Niall’s sure he’s seen correctly, their hands are intertwined under the table — loose but very there, fingers intertwined in a new, innocent way of mapping out one another that makes Niall’s chest ache when he sees it. Liam says something, Harry’s face breaking out into a wide grin, leaning in close. Niall almost feels like he’s intruding before looking away. 

That’s when he sees Zayn. No one else has noticed his absence, apparently, everyone still sitting and chatting with one another. Niall watches him stumble along the docks. He pauses, making sure no one else has seen what he has before clearing his throat, shifting away from Bressie. 

“Everything ok?” Bressie asks, brows knit together. 

Niall nods, pulling his coat off the back of the booth, looking at him. “Yeah I just. Need a smoke. Gotta step out for a sec,” he says, excusing himself. 

“Alright,” Bressie tells him, a smile on his lips and presses a kiss to the corner of Niall’s mouth. “I’ll be waiting.” 

Niall smirks, arms through his sleeves when he steps outside. It’s still warm out, a slight breeze coming; tries to brace himself, for whatever it is he’s about to willingly step into. 

“Hey —” he starts, gently touching Zayn’s elbow before he face-dives into the water. “What are you doing out here? You’re gonna get yourself fucking killed, Malik.” 

Zayn’s really drunk. More drunk than he was at Niall’s twenty-first birthday, which. Was pretty fucking drunk. “Dropped my lighter,” he says, face twisting up into a grimace. He sighs, loudly. “Can’t fucking find it anywhere, Ni.” 

“Alright, well,” Niall says, hand still wrapped around Zayn’s elbow where they’re both swaying in the wind. “We can just, get you a new one tomorrow yeah?” he suggests, throat tight. 

“Liked that one,” Zayn says, voice slow and soft, words slurring together. “Danny gave it to me. Before he, you know.” 

There’s a moment that lapses between them, tense and heavy and _long_ ; but Niall doesn’t break it. Just waits and watches Zayn exhales, eyes glassy and helplessly leans his forehead against Niall’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Niall says, rubbing a careful hand along Zayn’s arm. He’s not wearing anything except a t shirt, skin cold to the touch. Niall wants to press a kiss to his shoulder but stops himself. “I’m sorry, Zayn.” 

Zayn pulls back then, wiping under his nose, not quite meeting Niall’s gaze. Sometimes, Niall forgets all that they’ve been through — forgets all that’s happened to Zayn, he realizes, standing outside with him. 

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, even though it isn’t. “I’ll just — get another one. It’s fine.” 

Niall doesn’t argue with him, just watches one of Zayn’s hand reach out before settling on Niall’s waist, curling around it. Neither of them move. 

The water’s getting loud beside them — unrestrained and lapping up against the wood, but Niall doesn’t say anything. Just feels the warmth of Zayn’s palm against his waist, feels the way his bony fingers press in in that familiar way Niall knows so well, has it memorized somewhere in his mind, never wanting to forget it. 

Makes his head pound, heart speed up in his chest and tries to keep himself steady, tries to keep himself calm. But that’s always somehow become impossible, around Zayn. 

He doesn’t even realize Zayn’s close to him again until Niall feels the soft press of Zayn’s forehead against his; Zayn’s cheeks flushed presumably from the alcohol, Niall observes, and closes his eyes for a few moments. 

“Gotta tell you something,” Zayn says, with conviction. Niall focuses on how tightly Zayn’s gripping his jacket, their noses bumping against one another. 

“Say it, then,” Niall tells him, licking his lower lip. 

Though Niall’s not sure he wants to hear it. He’s sure he’s thought about this moments loads of times, before today. Has pictured exactly how he would want it to go — but can’t seem to think of any of the countless scenarios he’d come up with now, can only feel the way his mouth has gone dry, waiting for Zayn. 

How he’s been waiting his entire fucking life for Zayn, feels like. 

“I love you.” Zayn says, like it could’ve been this easy so many fucking years ago. That he had to wait until now, when they’re on these docks — with Bressie waiting inside for him and with Niall’s heart screaming two different things, inside his chest. 

“Zayn —” Niall starts. Zayn shakes his head. 

“You know I couldn’t stop staring at you, that first day of school? You and Louis were talking so _loud_ about me, not even trying to be subtle, and I just. I saw you and it was like I knew, then. It was so fucking clear to me but I’ve never been able to say it, for whatever fucking reason,” Zayn continues, keeps rambling on and Niall closes his eyes again, tight. “And I can’t. I need you to know, even though you’ve known this whole fucking time. Knew it before I ever did.” 

Niall’s throat and chest feel tight. It feels like his entire body is tight, wound up and making it nearly impossible to fucking breathe. 

“I’m with Bressie.” He says, surprisingly firm. “You can’t — do this. Not now, now when I’m in love with someone else.” 

For some reason, Niall expected something. Zayn to maybe push it, to say something else — say _something_. Instead, Zayn takes a step back — creates some distance between them. Niall’s first thought is that he doesn’t want any space between them. 

“Okay,” Zayn says, tucking a cigarette behind his ear, a silent and familiar gesture. “You’re in love with Bressie, then.” 

Niall doesn’t say anything. Just stands, watching the way the wind pushes Zayn’s unstyled hair across his forehead, dark against his skin. Neither of them speak for a few moments, until — 

“Niall?” 

They both look up. Bressie's in the doorway to the bar, watching them. Niall blinks, “Yeah, Bress, we’re — just out here.” 

“Everything alright?” Bressie calls back, hand on the door handle. Even from where Niall’s standing he can see Bressie gripping it tight, knuckles white and he nods. 

Zayn doesn’t say anything, taking another step back and scratching the back of his neck. Niall so badly wants to reach out — pull Zayn back in, run his thumb along the inside of his elbow and tell him they’re gonna figure it out. But he can’t, and instead finds himself walking toward the door despite whatever it is he wants to do. 

“We’re just — coming in now,” Niall says, Zayn wordlessly walking beside him. They walk back in through the door. 

Bressie doesn’t say anything else, just walks back to the group of them. Niall takes in a deep breath — tries to keep himself steady and puts his hands in his pockets. 

A little after one in the morning when they decide to head home. Bressie drives, having gotten a ride from someone at work when Niall hands over his keys, being in no state to drive them home. 

It’s quiet most of the way — the radio playing the entire time. Niall glances over at Bressie every now and again, unsure if he should say anything or keep his mouth shut. He decides on the latter, an unsure and slightly nervous feeling gripping at him when they walk through the front door. 

Niall makes his way into the kitchen, hearing Bressie go upstairs and assumes he’s going to get ready for bed, and gets himself a glass of water. His head is pounding, and there’s no sign of it letting up. He makes his way upstairs after a little while — the hallway dark as he opens the door to his bedroom. 

And it’s a surprise, then, to see Bressie packing a suitcase. Niall blinks, slowly, rubbing his eyes to make sure he’s seeing right. “Going somewhere, Bress?” he asks, laughing a little, leaning against the doorway. 

But Bressie’s expression doesn’t break, and that’s when Niall knows. “Going to go stay with a friend for a bit, I think,” he says slowly. 

Niall swallows, throat feeling like its closing up and takes a cautious step into the room. “What are you talking about,” he asks, arms crossed over his chest. 

Bressie doesn’t look up where he’s folding a shirt, shaking his head. “You know why I’m leaving. It’s not like this is a surprise,” he says flatly. 

“You’re serious?” Niall asks, “you’re just going to up and go like this?” 

“It’s not like I have much of a choice,” Bressie says. 

Niall licks his lips — feeling the sting of the chapped skin, pulling his arms tighter around himself. Like that’ll somehow stop all this from happening, maybe. “Of course you have a choice. Why wouldn’t you have a choice?” he asks, confused. “I thought — I thought you wanted to fix this. That you wanted to stay, and see this through. What about that? You’re just going to pack up and leave all this? We’ve got to give this a chance, you remember saying that? Give us a chance.” 

“You know, it’s kind of hard to give something a chance when they’re in love with someone else,” Bressie says, and the words ring something cold and haunting in Niall’s chest. 

“That’s not true,” Niall defends, even though Bressie’s almost packed. “That’s not true and you know that’s not it.” 

“Are you sure?” Bressie counters, forehead creased. “Because when I came out tonight to see talking to Zayn, I got a different sort of story from that.” 

“We were — he lost his lighter. One that his best friend got him. It’s — that’s serious, Bress. He died just before Zayn graduated high school. I wasn’t just going to leave him out there, hurting,” Niall explains, though the point feels useless now. 

“That’s why he had his forehead against yours? Telling you he loved you?” Bressie snaps, practically having to shove another shirt into his filling up suitcase. 

“You — heard that?” Niall asks in disbelief. 

Bressie laughs, the sound cold and enough to make Niall shiver. “Course I fucking heard that. What, you think if I didn’t I would be staying?” 

“I told him I was with you. It doesn’t matter what Zayn said,” Niall says, firmer this time. 

“Are you sure, though? Because I’ve been realizing things, these past few weeks. Things I wish I’d seen before, but always somehow seemed to miss,” Bressie starts. “You’ve never once said this was ‘our house’. You’ve never made this house ours, it’s always been /yours/. I’ve just been here, been living here — but it was never like you’ve ever really wanted me here. I was just extra warmth. A way for you to fill the space of Zayn not being here anymore. Because it’s not me you want — at the end of the fucking day you just want him. Even though he’s left for months on end and fucked you up so bad, you just want Zayn. Don’t you?” 

Niall wants to say something. Wants so badly to open his mouth and tell Bressie he’s wrong, that he doesn’t understand, that they’re going to make this work, but. Nothing comes out. 

That’s when he does up the zipper, loud and harsh against Niall’s ears. Like the final word, a reminder that Bressie is really leaving, now. And there’s nothing Niall can hope to do to change that. 

“And you know, a small part of me wanted you to tell me I was wrong. That I made it all up in my head, and that I was paranoid to think any of this is true,” Bressie says, his voice with a strange sense of finality to it. 

“Bress —” Niall starts, but he’s cut off. 

“But your silence just says it all, doesn’t it? You can’t say it out loud, but you don’t have to. I can tell just by looking at your fucking face. You’re in love with him.” 

Niall tries to open his mouth, but he can’t. Not when Bressie leaves his room, not when he puts on his shoes — not when he goes out onto the driveway and toward his car, Niall standing there and shivering in the cold, night air. Just watches, and feels his heart clench in his chest and that familiar feeling of loneliness hit him, hard, when Bressie’s headlights turn on. 

He doesn’t go back inside until his car goes off down the street — out of sight and he doesn’t come back, no real sign of him does Niall finally take a step inside. Niall somehow manages to get himself upstairs, crawling into his bed and pulling his blankets over himself and trying to remember how to breathe with this crippling tightness all over his body. 

— 

Niall takes a personal day the next day. Doesn’t answer any texts, doesn’t do much of anything, really, except stay in his bed for a good portion of the day. 

Bressie had left it on the dresser, a small note attached to it when Niall had found it that morning. ‘ _Give it back to him. - Bressie_ ’ is all the post it note said. Niall doesn’t even remember seeing him write it — but there it is. 

A part of him wants to toss it into the garbage, never think about it again. But a larger part of Niall forces himself to get up, reaching for the lighter. He holds it in his hand for a few moments. It feels strangely heavy, sitting in his palm. 

“You smoke?” Niall remembers asking the first time he’d seen it. It had been at Zayn’s house, Niall sitting in his room where him and Zayn had been trying to do homework. 

“A bit,” Zayn said, looking over at him with a small smile. 

Zayn smelled like smoke, lingering and all over the shirt he’d been wearing. The lighter had looked weirdly tiny in his hands, like his fingers could swallow the entire thing. 

“Where’d you get this, then,” Niall asked, closing his biology textbook and watching Zayn. 

A few moments of silence had passed between them, before Zayn had finally talked. Niall watched his face fall, just a bit — eyes a little more glassy in the dim lighting of his room, and that’s when Niall knew. 

Zayn swallowed, his free hand moving to take Niall’s in his own. Niall can still recall, now, how warm Zayn’s hand had been. He’d shifted closer, kissing Zayn’s clothed shoulder before putting his head down on it. 

That seemed to help, if only a bit, to get Zayn to finally speak. “It’s from my friend, Danny. Back home. You’ve met him a few times, haven’t you?” he’d started, voice impossibly quiet. 

Niall nodded. The entire room had fallen into this sort of stillness, one that Niall had been thankful for. Not even Zayn’s sisters could be heard downstairs, everything settled. 

“In Bradford?” Niall asked. Zayn nodded. 

“Yeah,” Zayn said slowly, hand gripping around Niall’s. “He wanted to be, like. One of those woodcarvers? For cupboards, and stuff. Build tables.” 

Niall doesn’t say anything, just traces the lighter that’s in Zayn’s hand — can see his name now, carved across it, a bird above it. “His brother, Ant, didn’t want that. Wants to be a businessman, or something, always used to talk about it a lot,” Zayn continued. “Anyway, he um — got an internship, with this guy, dropped out of school and everything to do it.” 

There’s a small line of wetness, down Zayn’s cheek. Niall didn’t move, just waited. 

“He was driving home, one night. The roads were basically ice, really unsafe to drive on, like. But he wanted to get home, I guess.” Zayn licked his lips, eyes closed for a moment. “And it was one patch, just one. It sent his car spinning — right into oncoming traffic. Or that’s what they told me, anyway.” 

“Hey,” Niall said softly, turning Zayn’s chin to get a better look at him. “I’m sorry,” he added, voice quiet as Zayn’s was. 

Zayn nodded, pressing his thumb against Niall’s cheek, lips to his forehead. 

Niall stares at it a little while longer, the memory replaying through his head in his bedroom. And maybe, Bressie was right. 

He puts the lighter down, and that’s when Niall gets an idea. 

There’s some whiskey in his cupboard, saved from God knows when, as he takes the cap off it. A few sips, Niall tells himself. Then he’ll call it a night. 

_niall. call me. are you alive? are you okay?_

A few sips has, regrettably, turned into a number Niall’s lost count of — hardly able to understand Louis’ text, reading it over for a third time. 

He doesn’t want to talk to Louis. Niall glares at his phone where he’s sprawled on his couch, the house empty and in a fit of feeling sorry for himself — decides in his last ten percent of battery to make a call. 

It’s not Louis he calls, despite his better judgement. 

“Hello?” Zayn answers after only one ring. 

“I have — something here, for you,” Niall pauses, overhearing voices. “Are you busy?” 

“I’m out with some friends,” Zayn says. 

Niall smacks his lips together, loudly. “I’m drunk.” 

There’s a pause until Zayn says, “alright.” 

“Bressie left,” Niall continues, not really caring if Zayn’s really out with friends now or not. “And I’ve had an entire bottle of whiskey, almost.” 

“Niall,” Zayn says, only a little firmly. He sounds a little drunk himself, now that Niall thinks about it. 

“Come over.” 

“I don’t think that’s —” 

“You want to, don’t you?” Niall presses, tipping his head back against the couch cushion. “And I have something, for you to pick up.” 

He hears Zayn sigh, but it’s not a no. “I have to take a cab, so I’ll be there in a bit,” he says before hanging up, leaving Niall to wonder if he’s actually coming. 

The unanswered question is answered a little while later, Niall sending a mostly readable text to Louis informing him that he’s fine, just had a bit too much to drink, and is going to watch golf for the rest of the night. 

_sounds dreadful. and also not very helpful for a breakup._ Louis replies. Niall ignores him, phone left on the coffee table in the living room when there’s a knock on the door. 

He stands, the world spins more, is the revelation Niall soon has when his feet touch the ground. But goes anyway, face nearly colliding with the floor in what would be a most likely disastrous outcome as he turns the handle. 

By no surprise, it’s Zayn. Niall feels like his heart has somehow lodged itself into his throat. “Hi,” Niall manages to get out. 

Zayn looks tired. Niall is tired. A never ending tired cycle, feels like. “Cab took a while,” Zayn slurs apologetically, stepping inside. 

Niall reaches out, slowly, fingers brushing Zayn’s waist. They nearly stumble over one another to get back into the living room. “Found it okay?” Niall asks, watching Zayn sit on the couch. 

“Not like I forgot where you lived, or anything,” Zayn says. 

There’s some space behind him, Niall filling it with Zayn warm against him. The lighter’s in his sweater pocket, fingertips pressing against it. He might not be drunk enough for this. 

“Bressie's gone, as of yesterday,” Niall begins, wincing. “And he left — this. So I thought I’d, you know. Give it back.” 

Zayn blinks slowly, and Niall takes out the lighter in question. It’s a moment before Zayn opens his hand, Niall depositing it into his palm without another word. 

He sees Zayn roll it around in his fingers, brows knit together. “That’s all?” Zayn asks, breaking the quiet. 

Niall shrugs, and that’s when Zayn seems to get some sort of unspoken cue — pushing himself up off the couch once more. Niall’s head feels heavy, weighted, like he can’t get a thought finished and out properly. He follows Zayn where he’s walking to the door. 

He doesn’t want Zayn to go. It’s the only real, clear thing he can make out in his clouded head. 

So he does whatever comes next — which is his hand, reaching out to press against Zayn’s cheek. Zayn pauses, lips parted and not saying anything. Niall kisses him. 

He’s so, so, drunk and Zayn’s mouth is so warm it’s making his knees feel like they’re going to give out at any second. But Niall doesn’t pull away; instead snakes a hand around to cradle the back of Zayn’s head. It’s hot and desperate, Niall catching Zayn’s bottom lip between his teeth — hearing him groan, pushing Niall up against the wall beside his door. 

Niall registers his head hitting the wall, briefly, but doesn’t really care when he’s got Zayn’s hands on his waist — gripping tight, thumbs pressing into his hipbones through his track pants. He feels like he can hardly breathe, as if his chest is going to cave in at any moment, but Niall can’t bring himself to pull away. 

Zayn tastes like his usual drink, gin and tonic and it makes Niall remember the whiskey burned his throat when he had it earlier — thinking about Zayn. And now he’s here, warm and licking into Niall’s mouth in that same way he used to do. 

Not much has changed, then. 

There’s no slowing down, Niall tugging insistently on the hem of Zayn’s shirt. Zayn goes along easily — lifting his arms and following Niall up to his room. 

Zayn helps Niall with his shirt next, fingers moving up Niall’s sides — warm and soft and like he remembers every bit of him. They’re just through the door when Zayn latches his mouth onto the side of Niall’s neck — sucking the skin and tugging on the waist of Niall’s jeans. 

“Something on your mind?” Niall whispers. Zayn nips at his neck in retaliation, but doesn’t argue. 

It’s not long before they’re on the bed, Zayn helping Niall take off his clothes with Niall soon returning the favour. And Niall should probably care — should feel that huge fucking ache in his chest, knowing this is where Bressie should be. That somewhere inside him he should feel guilty, for doing this. For wanting this the moment he saw Zayn in that stupid fucking grocery store parking lot, smoking and standing there and being everything Niall’s ever wanted. 

He bites at Zayn’s shoulder, lightly, moving up to press his teeth lightly into the skin of Zayn’s collarbone. Zayn doesn’t move away, just makes a small sound with Niall’s fingers at pressing into his hip bones instead. Niall runs his tongue over where he’s left marks along Zayn’s skin, trying to ignore the way his heart’s pounding in his chest. 

He’s mad, and angry and upset and God knows what else — one of his hands coming to palm Zayn’s cheek, as if to anchor himself in the feeling. It’s just. Niall _knows_. Knows how Zayn makes him feel, knows that it’s something he’s never had with anyone else — knows that Bressie was, probably, right about all this. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” Niall slurs, one of his hands squeezing a palmful of Zayn’s ass. The other boy doesn’t argue — just surges forward and kisses Niall and quietly says, “Okay.” 

Everything feels like it’s somehow moving slower. Maybe from the whiskey. Though more than likely from the whiskey and smell of Zayn’s cologne, Niall reckons while reaching for the lube in the bedside table. 

He tells himself his fingers are shaking because of some other reason, not because Zayn’s got one of his hands around Niall’s wrists — silently watching him as he tries to find a condom. “Are you going to get on with it, or,” Zayn asks lazily, breath smelling like smoke. 

Niall’s got one finger in Zayn to shut him up, hearing the other boy exhale shakily — forehead pressed against Niall’s where his back is against the bed. And Niall wants to still be angry, wants to be upset and everything else — but he can’t. Not when he sees the way Zayn’s eyebrows are knit together. 

Niall mutters a quiet, “shit,” before adding a second finger, working up a rhythm, feeling Zayn’s legs wrap around him, keeping them both in place. By the third finger Zayn seems nearly wrecked altogether — a bit of sweat across his forehead and the two of them breathing heavily. 

When Niall pushes into him Zayn’s all warm and tight and making his head spin. He tries to keep himself steady. It’s here Niall can see the new tattoo’s along Zayn’s skin, though he has no idea why Zayn put them there — a thought that doesn’t sit well with him, decidedly. 

Zayn comes a little while later; eyes closed and lips parted, looking more beautiful than Niall’s sure he’s ever seen him, letting out a mantra of Niall’s name buried somewhere in his neck. Niall isn’t long after him, coming with a shout of his own before pulling out, discarding the condom and feeling Zayn’s warm hands pull him back in. 

When they’re about to drift off, with Zayn kissing along his neck and Niall pressing his face into Zayn’s hair, does the guilt start to settle in. Like some sort of fucking weight on his chest, and he knows it won’t be gone in the morning. 

— 

Niall wakes up to an empty bed. And for a moment it’s almost laughable, how predictable and unchanging Zayn always will be. 

Until he hears something downstairs. His head is pounding and he’s going to be late for work, texting Louis exactly that — taking one of his sweaters and starting down the stairs into the kitchen. 

Zayn’s out on the porch, with a cup of steaming coffee and leaning against the wooden railing. Makes Niall’s heart clench something painful inside his chest, Zayn’s familiar frame looking over the mountains, jaw set and eyes focused. 

Niall steps outside, the morning air warm. “You can’t stay here.” 

Zayn looks down at his mug, one of his fingers going around the edge of it before he finally says anything. “So that’s it, then? One fuck and you’re done with me?” he asks, laughing quietly in the daylight. God, Niall’s so fucked for him. “Wish it could be that way for me.” 

Niall snorts, arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t get to say that, not after you left.” 

And he wonders, then, if this is the moment he should let Zayn go. “Can’t use that excuse when I haven’t left in over seven months,” Zayn says. 

Niall just stares at him, “Is that what this is about?” 

“Seems to be what you’re making it about,” Zayn replies, clearly unimpressed. 

“This was just — a mistake,” Niall continues, doesn’t bother stopping himself now. “And you should go.” 

Zayn doesn’t move, doesn’t even let his face change where he’s still staring at Niall with an annoying level of calmness. “Tell me you’re in love with him, and I will.” 

“I have to go to work,” Niall snaps instead of giving an answer, making his way back to the doors. “And when I come home, I want you gone.” 

He leaves without looking back, getting in his car and driving off onto the road. 

— 

None of them ask, but they all know. Niall imagines they’ve gotten some sort of rundown from Louis, because Zayn’s staying with him apparently — so there’s no need to fill any of them in, which is something of a relief. 

He spends the majority of his time in his office, with Louis coming in from time to time with work stuff, bookings and financial papers, that sort of thing. Liam comes in when he’s got food or coffee of some sort, more likely than not leaving it on Niall’s desk without any sort of word on the subject. Like they’re tiptoeing around him, feels like. Niall doesn’t comment on it, has no need to do so. 

Zayn’s gone by the time he gets home that evening, after work. There’d been no traces of him in Niall’s house, like it’s been for over a year now. And in the middle of his kitchen, with no one to hear him, Niall lets himself cry. Hands braced against the counter and the sun setting behind the mountains, now thankful for the silence in his house. 

— 

Things carry on, for the most part. Niall’s miserable. Goes to his job where it’s obvious Liam and Louis aren’t really sure what to do but let him go about his business. 

Which leaves Harry to be spoken for, who’s in the kitchen when Niall steps in one afternoon. He’s basically done for the day, just needs to go out and lock up some boats when he takes a cookie from a tray. 

Liam scowls at him, Harry in the middle of some sort of story so he’s got no time to lecture Niall. Liam laughs into Harry’s shoulder, leaving a quick kiss to his cheek as he finishes up. 

“Done for the day Horan?” Harry asks, glancing over at him. 

Niall shrugs, taking a grape from another bowl. He ignores Liam’s second glare. “Just have to put some boats away,” he says. 

“Why don’t I help?” Harry offers. 

Both Liam and Niall stare at him for a few moments. But when Harry doesn’t take back his offer, Niall laughs. “You sure you want to help? It doesn’t take me more than ten minutes,” Niall says. Harry shakes his head. 

“Ever since our camping trip I’m pretty much a natural with boating — you know. Things,” Harry explains. 

Liam looks highly amused, Harry decidedly not commenting on the way Niall’s holding back his own laughter, walking towards the door. “Boating things,” Niall repeats, Harry knocking his shoulder against his own. “Sounds very professional.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Harry says, flicking Niall’s ear. 

The shed’s empty when they get there, only three boats needing to be tied up. Harry manages to get one inside — and that’s with the help of Niall assisting him in getting it put away properly and leaving no room for it to fall and permanently injure someone. “So, um,” Harry starts awkwardly while Niall’s doing one last count. “How are — things?” 

Niall looks over at him, clipboard in his hands. “Subtle,” he mumbles, but Harry doesn’t drop the subject. 

“Come _on_ Niall, you’ve barely spoken to any of us in weeks,” Harry says, hands in his pockets and looking mostly useless. “So you and Zayn, are you okay —” 

Niall bristles immediately, hearing his name. “Okay with what?” he snaps, seeing Harry noticeably wince from a few feet away. “Why wouldn’t we be okay? We’re fine, we’ll always _be_ fine. It’s fine.” 

Harry doesn’t move for a few moments, shaking his head. “Doesn’t seem really fine, if I’m being honest.” 

“I don’t care what it seems like,” Niall says firmly, pushing past Harry. 

That’s the problem, maybe, Niall thinks to himself while him and Harry walk back to the inn in silence. Is that he barely even believes that himself, and he knows that. But him and Zayn never confirmed what they were, so it’s not like he has some sort of right to be pissed off and cry all fucking day about someone who wasn’t even his and never wanted to be in the first place. 

— 

Louis invites them over to play a game of soccer, one afternoon when summer finally feels like it’s here. It’s warm and the sun’s out, Niall halfway through a beer where him and Liam are sitting on the porch — listening to Harry and Louis bickering by the barbecue. 

“Think one of them will burn down the place first?” Niall asks. Liam gives Niall a half serious look, pausing where he’s playing a few loose chords on the strings. 

“Don’t joke, or you might find yourself in a world of trouble,” he says. 

Niall laughs, but doesn’t argue. Instead he shifts, listening to Liam play a little while longer until Louis calls their names from where he’s standing on the grass — ball at hand. 

“I reckon we need another game to make up for last year’s debacle,” Louis says. “Since I got stuck with Harry and we _lost_.” 

“Heyyyyy,” Harry protests, now sitting on one of Liam’s legs, guitar decidedly abandoned. 

“Me and Niall versus you two,” Louis instructs, though it sounds more so like a demand. “I don’t make the fucking rules come on then.” 

“Yes you do,” Liam says, taking the ball from Louis’ arm. “And if you get Niall, then we start.” 

“You guys make it seem like I’m the absolute worst player in the world,” Harry says, frowning. Liam smacks a kiss to his cheek, loud and enough to get both Niall and Louis wincing where they’re standing. 

“I wouldn’t say absolute worst,” Louis says. “More like, you know. One of the worst, but not the _absolute_ worst.” 

Harry flips him off, Liam saying something in his ear. Louis makes his way toward their current goal posts — which consists of two sweaters spread out between a certain length. “Think we’re going to win?” Louis asks, glancing toward Niall. 

Niall scoffs, rubbing his hands together. “When have I ever let you down, Tommo.” 

“Touche,” Louis agrees, and they’re off. 

Harry’s game has not improved, which is both good and bad for Niall and Louis’ team. It’s good because Niall has an easier way of taking the ball from his feet. But bad because since they’ve last played Harry’s somehow gotten _longer_ in the limbs, if that were at all possible. So now he has ways of clinging himself to Niall in ways that are prohibited during a soccer game; but are also also just downright playing dirty, in Niall’s opinion. 

“He’s resourceful,” Liam argues when Louis calls him a cheat. 

Harry grins, shaking his hips. Niall groans loudly into his hands. “Admit defeat, Horan?” Harry calls, sounding all too satisfied with himself. 

Niall narrows his eyes. “Not on your fucking life,” he says. Louis catcalls from behind him. 

He runs down the small strip of grass, knee only throbbing slightly — as it usually does when Niall spends a certain amount of time on it, but it’s nothing serious. Or that’s what he tells himself, winding up to take the shot on Liam, Louis shouting something encouraging behind him. Harry’s got this wide eyed look on his face, which is when Niall finds himself colliding with the ground. 

The pain doesn’t register at first, but when it does it’s real and feels like his entire leg is on fire — starting at his knee. Niall lets out a cry, leg limp and voices above him. 

“Niall, Niall, shit — can you hear me?” Louis’ voice comes first, threading his hands through Niall’s hair. 

His throat feels dry, and everything fucking _hurts_. Niall nods, squeezes his eyes tight, hearing Liam's voice a little way’s off. 

“— Yes, we need an ambulance here straight away —” and that’s when Niall can feel the nerves start in, unable to move his leg and still writhing in the grass. 

“You’re going to be alright,” Louis tells him, and Niall wants to ask him how he knows that. 

He doesn’t even hear the ambulance come, just feels himself slowly lifted up and Louis’ hand in his own as they drive off. 

— 

According to the doctor, he tore his knee cap. It happens when someone such as Niall has had previous injuries, and if too much pressure is applied and it hasn’t fully healed properly the kneecap will just — tear. 

It fucking hurts like a bitch, Niall thinks where he’s sitting in his hospital bed. Louis has been here the whole time — constantly fretting and bringing Niall whatever he asks, Harry and Liam coming a little while later; both with worried looks on their faces. 

“Why would you bring me these,” Niall asks, holding up a cup of ice chips toward Louis. 

Louis shrugs, then says, “I don’t know. Thought they might — you know. Be calming, or something.” 

“They give these to mothers in labour,” Harry comments, picking one out of the cup and tossing it at Louis without so much of a second thought. “Does Niall look to be a mother or in labour?” 

Louis pinches Harry’s arm, muttering a quiet “oh fuck off then, Doctor Styles,” before Liam steps between them. 

Niall’s staying overnight, doctor’s orders, and finds himself dreading it. The bed feels too big and not soft enough, smelling sterile and entirely too much like a hospital. 

Paul’s going to take over the shed for a little while, Louis taking over Niall’s office stuff for the two weeks he’ll be gone. With recovery and physiotherapy, neither of which Niall wants to go through for a second time. He really fucked this up, he thinks to himself. Louis, Harry, and Liam say their goodbyes — visiting hours over and closing the door behind them. Which just leaves Niall in his room; knee bandaged up and feeling mildly claustrophobic in the small space. 

There’s movement outside his door, and it reminds Niall of when he went for his surgery — back when he was still in high school. His dad stayed the night, sleeping in one of those horribly uncomfortable chairs no matter how many times Niall urged him to go home and get a good night’s rest. 

Niall picks at the bandages wrapped loosely around his knee, the scar swollen and red — along with the rest of his knee — wincing where he runs a finger along it. 

“Kind of sexy,” is the first thing Zayn had said about it, Niall lets himself remember. 

Niall paused, staring at him for a few passing moments. “Don’t think sexy is the word you’re looking for,” he’d replied, but Zayn shook his head. 

Louis had drawn all over it, doodles and shapes; Niall’s sure he still has pictures of those around somewhere. 

It’s half two in the morning when Niall registers the time, falling back onto the bed and forcing himself to sleep. 

— 

Liam takes Niall home the next day, both Louis and Harry sending a string of apologetic texts that they’re tied up at work — but he gets it. 

The doctor says Niall has to stay mostly in the downstairs area; the one nearest to the kitchen and bathroom, so he doesn’t have to take the stairs too often. Which mostly means Niall’s going to be sleeping on the couch, is what he’s getting from this. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Liam encourages, driving down the street to Niall’s house. “And if you need anything, we’re all just a call away.” 

Niall nods, pressing his forehead up against the glass of the passenger’s side window. It’s foggy out, not really feeling like summer and he exhales slowly. The drive feels long and Niall listens while Liam talks — mostly about the inn, with the occasional mention of Harry. He keeps his eyes out the window, picking at the hospital bracelet still around his wrist. 

Something’s off, when they pull into his driveway. Niall doesn’t say anything, just watches as Liam cuts the engine — first getting Niall’s crutches from the back seat before going to open the trunk. Niall does his best to hobble up to the front door, keys in one hand as he leans on his crutch, finally managing to get the door open. 

“You’re sure you’ll be okay here?” Liam asks when they step inside, voice firm but not forceful. 

Niall nods, swallowing. He’s been here a lot since Bressie left — even after he’d told Zayn to leave, but it’s just now that the emptiness is starting to feel real, tangible. It’s just him, Niall realizes as he stands in his tiny front entrance. Doesn’t tell Liam this — doesn’t even let himself think on it too much before getting his shoes off, being mindful of his bad knee and putting them under the small bench near the door. 

Liam helps Niall get situated in the living room. Grabs some sheets from Niall’s bed, a few pillows, and a number of different change of clothes. He mentions something about them driving Niall to his appointments — apparently on some sort of schedule that Niall doesn’t ask about, nodding. 

His knee is throbbing, nearly unbearable by the time he finally sits on the couch. Niall exhales slowly, hands gripping his thighs and closes his eyes for a few moments. Reminds himself to keep breathing, like that’ll somehow remove the weight that’s found itself on his chest. 

“I’ll call you later, yeah?” Liam says, standing at the end of the couch, keys out. “And if you need anything, just —” 

“Call one of you,” Niall finishes for him, forcing a small smile. He doesn’t mean it, the smile, but knows Liam will need some sort of reassurance before he leaves back for the inn. 

“Alright,” Liam tells him slowly, a small frown on his face. “We taped you some of the games, the Derby ones,” he adds. “They were doing a bunch of reruns, so Lou thought it was a good idea.” 

Niall glances to the remote on the table. “I’ll probably watch those,” he says, and watches a bit of the tension between Liam’s shoulders lessen. “Thanks again, Li. I really appreciate it.” 

Liam shrugs, like it’s no big thing, leaning forward and kissing Niall’s head briefly. “Talk to you later,” he says, like a promise, before going back out the door. 

Once it’s closed and Niall’s sure he can can hear Liam’s car pulling out of the driveway, does he press the heel of his hands to his eyes. There’s a warm wetness building there ever since he walked through the door — warm and stinging and _real_. His knee fucking hurts, and this house is too fucking _quiet_. 

He only relishes the silence for now, lips trembling and the tears refusing to stop until he’s exhausted himself to sleep — leaning against his pillow to drifting off, not wanting to think any more. 

— 

There’s a light on in the kitchen by the time Niall finally blinks awake. His eyes feel puffy and his head heavy, knee still hurting, shifting slowly and wincing the entire time. 

It’s a few moments until he reaches for his crutches, putting them securely under his arms and makes his way toward the kitchen. 

It’s Harry, moving things around with his head in the fridge. Niall pauses in the doorway. “Plan on giving me a heart attack as well?” Niall asks, seeing Harry jump. 

“Shit, Niall —” he breathes out, clearly surprised. “You were _asleep_. What was I going to do, wake you up?” 

Niall feels a bit of anger tug at his chest, though knows it’s not at Harry. It has nothing to do with Harry. “Well, you know. Could’ve let me know you were here,” he snaps. 

Harry pauses, expression unreadable where he’s got something on the stovetop. Smells like his mother’s famous spaghetti recipe, and Niall feels regret and irritation under his skin. He hates himself sometimes — and especially in this moment, with everything a fucking mess inside of him, like he can’t control what he says next. 

“There's pasta, here. Some bread and butter on the table, with a salad,” Harry says, not commenting on Niall’s irritated tone before. 

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Niall presses, jaw set. 

For a brief moment, Niall sees something break on Harry’s features. But he doesn’t let it stay there long — putting down the spoon he’s stirring with, now facing Niall. “You can’t make dinner with a knee like that,” Harry says simply, voice neutral. 

Niall swallows, grips the support of his crutches tighter. “Didn’t give me a chance,” Niall says, and it’s hurtful. 

Harry’s quiet, and Niall can feel the apology on the tip of his tongue — knows he can say it, knows he _has_ to say it — 

“I should get going. Got some stuff to do for work before meeting up with someone later,” he says, and after years of knowing Harry Niall can hear when his voice breaks, just a little. 

“Are you seeing Liam,” Niall asks. Harry doesn’t look him in the eye. 

“I’ll come back for my dishes later this week,” Harry says, taking his coat from the back of one of the chairs. Niall turns to see him out the door. 

“Fuck,” Niall mumbles, his kitchen smelling like tomato sauce and a large lump of regret in his throat. 

Makeing sure the stove’s off, not feeling particularly hungry, Niall hobbles back into the living room. Though he doesn’t want to sit, doesn’t want to watch a fucking game — wants to do something other than sit around with his fucked knee, is what he wants. 

Getting an idea, Niall makes his way back upstairs. The stairs aren’t good — more than once he nearly stumbles, one hand gripping the banister, the other balancing his two crutches. But he keeps going, until he reaches his bedroom. 

In one of the dresser drawers, he finds one of Bressie’s shirts. Tucked away in the back, but still noticeable mixed in with Niall’s. He pulls it out, finding another one a little way’s over — the cycle continuing as he opens another drawer, and another, moving onto his closet next. 

There’s a few of Zayn’s things in there as well. A pair of his old jeans, splattered in paint — a ripped tank top, one of his stone roses t shirts that originally belonged to Louis. The pile in the middle of his floor is growing bigger; though the anger in his chest not getting any less. His hands are shaking by the time he’s finished, though if it’s from the excessive moving on his knee or seeing a pile of Bressie and Zayn’s stuff, he’s not sure. 

But he wants them gone. Niall isn’t sure how he’s going to do that, but he knows he can’t stay in this house another second with all these things in here. 

He’s to get about half of the pile into the bag, black and probably too big for Niall to carry in his current condition. Fuck it, Niall thinks, and tries to carry the bag in one hand — while also leaning on his crutch for support, he wants this _gone_ so he can get on with his fucking life. 

Just before he manages to get it down the stairs, however, Niall falters — stumbling when he’s not even two stairs in. There’s not much he can see before it all goes black; just feels the pain in his knee, can see the clothes all along the floor, and hears his crutches hit the ground. 

— 

Niall wakes up in his bed, of all places. 

He’d woken up briefly, a little while after his fall — only registering that it was now dark outside; someone was carrying him, and they smelled like smoke. 

He stirs, a small sense of recognition going through him and grips the sheets. When Niall finally manages to get his eyes open, his room is empty. The clothes are off the floor, and there’s a small bowl of soup by his bed, still hot. 

It’s a few moments until Niall can manage sitting up, wincing at his knee and leaning back against his pillows. Getting out of bed is a useless idea now, his knee too fucked up to even move — he can tell already through the pain shooting up his leg. There’s movement downstairs again, and he takes in a deep breath. 

His phone is next to him, Niall seeing a long list of alerts as he scrolls through them. The first was a text from Liam, hours ago, saying: _What the Fuck Niall, harry was just Trying 2 hlp_. And another from Louis, _seriously ni? text me. what the hell is up with you?_

There’s a string of missed calls from Liam, and Louis, one from Harry — and a handful more from Zayn, Niall reads, groaning. 

“Are you trying to get yourself back into the hospital?” a voice comes from the doorway. Niall puts his phone down, seeing Zayn. He’s got a mug in his hands — coffee, most likely. Dark. Enough so that it’s bitter and unbearable; or so Niall’s told him over the years. 

“What are you doing here,” Niall asks flatly. 

“You weren’t answering anyone’s calls. Someone had to come see if you were okay,” Zayn says simply. 

Niall blinks, guilt heavy returning on his chest. “How long was I out for,” he asks finally. 

Zayn takes a step into Niall’s room, slowly. He’s wearing a white t shirt and usual jeans, socks on his feet and an old beanie on his head. His hair’s longer, poking out of the bottom and nearly touching his neck. “A few hours,” Zayn tells him, licking his lips. “You’re fucking stupid, Ni. You could’ve really fucked yourself over, you know that?” 

“Don’t want a lecture,” Niall tells him sharply. 

“Didn’t ask if you wanted one,” Zayn’s quick to retaliate. 

“You can go now, you know,” Niall says, shifting. “I’ll just get myself back downstairs —” 

Zayn’s snort cuts him off. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, as if his mind is already made up. “Your little stunt proves that you can’t be left alone.” 

“I’m not a child,” Niall argues, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. 

“You’re making a bad habit of acting like one,” Zayn says calmly, having a sip of his coffee. Niall sighs, leaning his head back. “What are you doing going and yelling at Harry for anyway.” 

Niall closes his eyes; imagines himself somewhere else. “I don’t know. He was there and I was mad so I just —” 

“Took it out on him,” Zayn says before Niall even has to. 

“I’m a massive asshole, I know,” Niall says into the corner of his pillow. He’s fucking exhausted, and he has hardly even done anything. 

“You’re not,” Zayn says. “Just got some shit going on, that’s all.” 

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” Niall promises, though it’s not Zayn he needs to promise. 

He doesn’t argue about Zayn's staying here; his bones feel heavy and his entire body like it can’t move anymore, exhaling slowly. Instead Niall lets his eyes close and his body relax, telling himself he’ll do all that tomorrow. 

And a tiny part of him, one he doesn’t give too much attention to — also hopes Zayn isn’t gone in the morning. But he keeps that to himself. 

— 

“Hello?" 

It’s sometime after one in the afternoon the next day, when Niall calls Harry. He’s been in bed all day under strict orders by both Zayn and Louis, and after having lunch he decides a call might do him some good. 

“Hi, Harry,” Niall says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s Niall.” 

“Oh,” Harry answers quietly. “How are you feeling? Zayn said you took a bit of a fall.” 

“Good, yeah. Making me stay in bed mostly,” Niall answers. 

“Bet you love that,” Harry says, sarcastic. 

Niall’s got his leg propped up on some pillows, the bandage wrapped tight and his knee not throbbing as much today, which is good. “You can call me an asshole, you know.” 

He can hear Harry sigh on the other line, muffled sounds around him. Most likely at work, Niall thinks. 

“Don’t want to call you an asshole,” Harry says. Niall inhales, tugging at the hospital band still around his wrist. Should cut that off. 

“I was just, angry. I took it out on you — and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Harry. You had made food and you were being so great and I was just — a massive dick.” 

There’s a few beats of silence, and Niall finds himself holding back a breath until Harry speaks again, “apology accepted.” 

Niall smiles, a little. “I’ll make it up to you when my knee isn’t being a huge fuck up,” he says. 

“Holding you to that,” Harry says. 

“You can come over sometime, if you want. I’ll let you win at Fifa,” he suggests, hearing Harry scoff. 

“Like you need to _let_ me win,” Harry says bitterly. “Should go, though. Nick needs some help with a thing on his show today and I’m the hired help, apparently.” 

“Sure, yeah,” Niall says. “But we’re good?” 

“We’re good,” Harry says, and there’s no reason for Niall to doubt the sincerity in his voice. 

He hangs up a moment later, seeing someone at the door. Niall pauses, watching Zayn come into his room, sketchbook at hand. He pretends to busy himself with a book he’s been reading the past couple of weeks, opening to his bookmark and starting on the page he’d left off on. 

Everything feels unsettled, like nothing is right in the house. Niall’s bored and tired — doesn’t know what else to do. “You hungry?” Zayn asks after a moment, “could really go for some food right now.” 

It should be strange, maybe. Having Zayn here. After everything that happened, but it sort of makes sense he’s here. 

“Could go for some food, yeah,” Niall responds slowly. 

Zayn brings Niall up some dinner, then the dishes back to the kitchen. Comes back a little while later smelling like smoke and giving Niall his medication. It falls into a sort of pattern with them over the next couple of days, feeling almost seamless. And when Niall’s got a check up on a Thursday afternoon at the hospital, it’s not any sort of surprise when Zayn offers to take him. 

“Hospitals are boring,” Niall says, adjusting the crutch under his arm as Zayn assists him down the stairs. “And smell like rubbing alcohol. Nothing but fucking rubbing alcohol.” 

Zayn just shakes his head, tapping to the pocket of his sweater. “Got a book with me,” he says. 

“That nurse might hit on you again,” Niall adds, watching Zayn raise an eyebrow. 

“Then I’ll ignore her,” Zayn says easily. “Besides, how else do you expect to the get to hospital with only one working leg?” 

Niall rolls his eyes, reaching the bottom of the stairs. “Take a cab,” he says, and Zayn snorts. 

“Not on your fucking life,” Zayn says, opening the front door of the car so Niall can get in — his crutches in their usual spot of the back seat. 

The drive is quiet, but it’s a comfortable silence. The radio is turned low so it’s just a gentle hum in the car speakers, nearly putting Niall to sleep as he leans his head back. He’s sort of dreading this meeting, isn’t sure what’s going to come of it. Either his knee is healing well and should have a full recovery, or it won’t ever heal properly — given how easy it was to fuck it up with one game of soccer in Liam’s backyard. 

“I got a job,” Zayn says somewhere along the main street, both hands on the wheel. 

Niall looks over at him, seeing a small smile tug at one corner of Zayn’s lips. “No shit,” he says, “where?” 

“Just at this little company, designing like — logos and stuff? I can do it from home,” Zayn says. 

Niall blinks, running a hand through his hair and asking the obvious question, “Where is it?” 

“California,” Zayn says, and Niall feels a small sense of panic go through him as soon as Zayn says it. “I don’t have go there, though. Which is the nice part.” 

“Dunno, California is warm like — all the time. Sure would beat this fucking place,” Niall says, hearing Zayn laugh in response. 

“Been there for a few months, it’s been good,” Zayn continues, sounding strangely nervous. “Everything’s picking up so it’s a bit busy, which is a nice change from having hardly anything to do.” 

Niall nods. “But you really like it?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “I really do.” 

When they pull up into the hospital parking lot Zayn looks at Niall for a moment, as if studying him. He cuts the engine, puts his keys into his pocket and reaches over to grip Niall’s hand once before going to get his crutches. 

The appointment goes how they usually go, for the most part. Niall checks in with the nurse, Zayn staying behind in one of the chairs as he’s ushered into another, smaller room. He’s helped up onto the bed with the crinkly paper, legs hanging down and knee only throbbing a little. He sighs, bored. 

While his doctor checks on him, it’s nice knowing someone’s waiting for him out there. Someone with dark hair and skinny jeans and paint under his fingernails. Someone Niall _knows_. 

Even when he gets the bad news; that his knee isn’t healing properly, and it will always give him a bit of trouble. That he’ll need to keep doing physiotherapy for the next number of months to see if it’ll improve — only then does Niall remind himself that Zayn is right there, in the waiting room. 

He’s got a prescription in one hand, crutches under both arms and makes his way back out. Zayn isn’t there. Niall pauses, glancing around, not really sure what to do next. 

“He went outside,” the receptionist tells him, not looking up from her computer. And when Niall looks over at the glass doors sure enough there’s Zayn, smoking. 

It looks like it might rain, when Niall manages to get out the doors. Zayn steps on his cigarette, giving Niall a concerned look where he’s standing on the wet sidewalk. For a moment, Niall doesn’t say anything. Isn’t sure he can properly form into words, the news he was just told. He swallows, hard, grip tightening around the handle of his crutch — almost like a lifeline. 

“He said I, um — I won’t ever really heal properly,” Niall begins, because it only makes sense to get it out in the open right away. “That I’ll be able to walk again but, it won’t be the same.” 

Even before he says it, Niall can see the apology forming. Can hear the words before they come out of his mouth, causing Niall to tense in the anticipation. “It’s fine. I just want to get home,” he says, cutting off Zayn before he could start anything. 

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t argue. Just walks alongside Niall, crutches in the back and starting the car while Niall gets back into his seat. 

Which basically leaves Niall fucked. Warm tears sting his eyes all the way home, making his vision blurry whenever he blinks. Somewhere along the way it starts raining, loud against the windshield and he’s not sure when but he can feel his cheeks wet, like a steady stream. Niall doesn’t even bother wiping it away, taking in a shaky breath. 

“Fuck,” Niall mumbles when they get into the driveway. It’s the same system to get back out of the car, a sense of relief coming over him when he makes his way through the front door, Zayn not that far behind him. 

Niall pauses in the front entrance, shoes off and leaning against his crutches as he tries to steady himself. It doesn’t work, and it’s as if Zayn knows — has known since the moment Niall met him outside, that this was coming. 

And that’s when his hands are pulling Niall close; warm, familiar, and comforting. Niall doesn’t resist, tucking his head under Zayn’s chin and grips the fabric of his shirt tightly. There’s a growing patch of wetness on the material, but neither of them notice or comment on it. It’s like everything hurts — his fucking knee, his chest like it’s caving in, somewhere behind his ribs his heart is fucking aching. 

Zayn shushes him quietly, running one hand through Niall’s hair and pressing his lips to his forehead. 

Later, when Niall’s made it up to bed — not hungry for dinner or thirsty for tea, Zayn doesn’t leave. He’d tried to get up at one point but Niall pulls on his wrist, like a silent question. And Zayn didn’t need to be told twice — crawling back beside Niall and pressing a kiss to the top of his head while the two of them drifted off. 

— 

The next few days are quiet. Or, more quiet than usual. Niall doesn’t want to talk, and Zayn doesn’t force him. Just goes about doing dishes or making food or getting the laundry in order. 

It’s been a few weeks, so Niall’s been advised to walk without his crutches for periods at a time, if he can. So far it’s been alright — save for a few accidents now and again, but Zayn’s been there to help. 

He’s in the kitchen when Niall gets there. Brace on his knee and leaning against the doorway, he watches Zayn washing the pots from dinner. He doesn’t notice Niall right away, just keeps humming to himself where he’s putting dishes to dry on the rack. 

“Going to let me help you?” Niall asks, seeing Zayn glance over his shoulder. 

_Zayn shakes his head. Typical. “There’s a nice chair for you to sit on,” he says, motioning with his foot._

Niall groans, unmoving. “You can’t keep me locked in here forever. Like you expect my long blonde hair to grow and grow until I’ll use it to climb out of here.” 

Zayn snorts, wiping his nose with the still dry back of his hand presently not covered in soap bubbles. “So I should call you Rapunzel from now on?” he asks, and Niall rolls his eyes. “That’ll take a lot of hair dye, I imagine.” 

Niall shouldn’t be mad at Zayn, he knows that. But he can’t shake this feeling inside him, constantly there — like there’s a wall between them, stopping _something_ from happening. Not that Niall’s sure if anything is going to happen, if Zayn _wants_ anything to happen. He has no fucking clue what either of them want. 

“You left, do you remember that?” 

As if expecting this, Zayn lowers the dish washing brush. He dries his hands on the towel hanging on the handle of the stove, leaning back against the counter to look at Niall. He doesn’t look nervous, like Niall thought maybe he would, just looks calm. Serene, almost. 

“I do remember,” Zayn says slowly. He’s got hair along his face, having not shaved in a number of days. 

“You fucking _left_. And you’re only here because you were jealous I was with Bressie, isn’t that it?” Niall asks. When he doesn’t get a response, he continues, “well guess what, he’s gone. And you’re going to fuck off again, aren’t you? Where to this time? Rome? Paris? Anywhere that’s fucking farthest away from me so you can put as much distance as you can between us?” 

He sounds angry and pissed, Niall registers from his own tone — crossing his arms over his chest. But there’s no point in Zayn staying, in both of them in this small house, tip toeing around one another if they’re just going to end up hurting each other again. Because that’s how it’s always gone with them. Someone ends up hurt. And it’s horrible and awful and Niall isn’t sure he could live through watching Zayn walk out that door again. 

“You’re pinning this all on _me_ , when you didn’t tell me to stay. You didn’t tell me that you were to fight for this, fight for _us_. You didn’t give me a reason to stay, Niall,” Zayn says finally. And as much as Niall doesn’t want to admit it — he’s right. 

He should just say it. What he’s been wanting to say for as long as he can fucking remember, before he even really knew what his feelings were — what he knew he had for Zayn. Still has for Zayn. Will always have for Zayn. 

“I think me being in love with you since I was fifteen fucking years old means you should’ve stayed, Zayn.” 

For a brief moment that feels stretched into an eternity, Niall isn’t sure how Zayn is going to react. Has no fucking clue what he’s going to say, or what he’s going to do. 

Which is when Zayn takes a few steps across the kitchen — closing the gap between them. It’s the kiss Niall wanted to have on the docks, a few weeks ago. 

“You could’ve said this sooner,” Zayn says, both hands on Niall’s cheeks. 

“That doesn’t sound like an I love you too,” Niall says softly, breath caught in his throat. 

Zayn presses his thumb against Niall’s lip thoughtfully, before leaning forward and kissing. His mouth is soft and plush like Niall remembers, tasting of peanut butter and coffee and cigarettes. And Niall’s in love with him, knows that without a fucking doubt. 

“I love you too,” Zayn says gently, lips brushing against Niall’s. 

Dishes abandoned and forgotten, Niall opts for kissing Zayn instead. Even when the suds are gone and the water’s cold, it doesn’t matter because Niall has Zayn. Has always had Zayn; has him here, now. 

And he isn’t leaving. 

— 

“Hey, Z.” 

All Niall gets, predictably, is a grunt. With a gentle touch and kisses to whatever part of his neck is exposed, Zayn stirs awake. 

“Oh my God,” Zayn says slowly, muffled by his pillow. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? That’s why you brought me out here in the middle of fucking nowhere?” 

Niall shakes his head, brushing some of Zayn’s hair from his forehead. “Would’ve killed you long before the third day, Malik. I’m not an amateur,” he says simply. 

“What time is it,” Zayn asks, eyes not yet open. 

“Early,” Niall says, his laugh muffled where his face is pressed into Zayn’s arm. “But I come bearing coffee. And scones.” 

Zayn moves, but doesn’t make any real effort to get up. “What kind of scones,” he asks. 

“Raspberry white chocolate. Liam’s,” Niall says, knowing there’s no way Zayn can turn those down. Not even at four in the fucking morning. 

“You better not be lying,” Zayn says, slowly sitting up. Niall presses a kiss to his cheek. 

“Never lie about scones, Zayn. Don’t you know me at all?” Niall asks, mock offended. “I expect you out here in ten minutes. No lazing around, you hear me?” 

“Yes, Jesus, I hear you — now get out of here so I can try and find some clothes,” Zayn says grumpily, pushing Niall gently out the tent entrance. 

Niall smiles to himself, pulling his blanket a little closer around his body. He’s got the scones in a paper bag, after Liam handed them over making Niall promise Zayn would eat these at the top of a mountain watching a Vancouver sunrise. They might not be at the top of one but it’s close enough, Niall figures. And besides, it’s not like Liam is here. Even though all of them pleaded to come along, Niall insisted it be the two of them. 

And so now here he is, waiting for Zayn and holding a thermos of coffee in his other hand. There’s movement from the tent, which is a good sign. Means Zayn didn’t go back to sleep. Niall’s debating checking where his progress is at until he hears the zipper, opening the tent. 

Still looking asleep on his feet, Niall affectionately presses his lips to Zayn’s neck. “You won’t regret this, I promise,” Niall says. Zayn grunts a second time. 

There’s a small path leading up to a lookout, Zayn allowing Niall to lean against him for support as they walk along. His knee isn’t so bad anymore, considering how bad it was. Still throbs every now and again and he still needs his brace, but it’s manageable at least. 

And, as Louis promised, there’s a nice set of rocks for them to sit on. Niall hands over the scones, coffee along with them. Zayn accepts them, kissing Niall’s cheek once before taking a small bite. 

“Why are we out here again?” Zayn asks, head on Niall’s shoulder. 

“To see the sunrise,” Niall replies. 

“Right. Of course,” Zayn responds flatly, but doesn’t complain any more. 

Niall smiles into his hair, feeling one of Zayn’s arms curl around his waist, tugging him close. They smell like smoke and bug spray, but he doesn’t care. Hardly notices, when he’s got Zayn half asleep and nestled into his side. Warm and mumbling about scones, and Niall’s sure he can see them doing this until they’re old and grey — without a care in the world. 

“Glad I’m here, with you,” Zayn says softly. 

“Yeah,” Niall says in agreement, watching the sun slowly peek over the trees to greet them. “Me too.” 

And in the early morning, with the dew still on the grass, it sounds like a promise of forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> i can be found [here](http://loueh.tumblr.com/) if you would like to talk to me about this fic or anything else your heart desires!


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